


The Arena

by Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abused Dean Winchester, Abusive John Winchester, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Wings, Blood and Gore, Broken Dean Winchester, Child Abuse, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Demon Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, Too much fluff, Torture, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, Violence, Wings, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 40,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23166337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound/pseuds/Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound
Summary: Angel general Castiel Novak is captured one night by demons from King Crowley's kingdom. He is transported overnight to an arena, where he is given a cell, a chance, and a partner.His cell, he can handle. The chance to survive, he will take. His partner. . . Not so much.Dean Winchester, Knight of Hell, wants nothing to do with Castiel either. But they have both been thrown here by circumstance, and there is only one way out of this arena: to eliminate all the other competition.As time passes and the chances of never returning home climb higher, the boys start to realize that their only chances of survival rest in each other. Can a scarred demon learn to trust in guardian angels? And can a well-meaning angel finally help put a broken demon back together again?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 777
Kudos: 548





	1. Chapter 1

**One**

The arena was hot and unwelcoming. Heat waves rippled across the surface of the sand that made up the floor. Fifteen foot high metal walls rose around the sandy area in a circle-like shape, effectively boxing in whoever was fighting and turning the arena into an oven.

The thing that worried Dean was that he wasn't even sweating. He was too dehydrated for sweat, his eyes and mouth as dry as the sand he stumbled over. 

"Move your ass, you piece of shit," the guard behind him snarled, a burly demon that was bright red. Dean bared his teeth at the guard, earning himself a strike across the face.

Blood dribbled a little down Dean's cheekbone, wetting his cracked lips for a moment. He tasted it, the sweet-sour flavor curdling on his dry tongue.

They finally reached one of the four archways that were built into the metal walls of the arena. There was a large 'N' above it, indicating the North Gateway.

The sand turned to stone tiles, rough underneath Dean's bare feet. It was cooler at least, soothing the burns the raging heat of outside had induced. 

There was a long hallway ahead, ending in a large metal door. Lining the walls on either side were metal bars enclosing cages. Some were filled with prisoners, some weren't. Dean noticed that there was only ever a max of two prisoners per cell.

He was shoved along until they were near the end of the hall. The guards came to a stop, the short chains they held forcing him to stop as well.

"Get in your cell," one of the guards growled.

Dean considered defying for a moment, but he was tired and hoping for some water before the day was out. He stepped forward, into the cell. He even turned, allowing them to unhook his chains.

"Don't try to escape," one of the guards sneered at him. "You can't."

Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't need to be told that.

King Crowley's arena, nicknamed the Pit, was impenetrable. It was where the dark king held numerous fights to the death, for his and his subjects' entertainment. 

Dean, a Knight of Hell, had been given to King Crowley as a peace offering from the Armies of Heaven. They weren't anxious to incite the king's wrath, and when he had asked for potential gladiators, they had handed over Dean right away.

He had proved he didn't have any information worth sharing, anyway. After five months of torture at the hands of their best interrogators, they had decided that he wasn't worth the expenditure of resources.

Dean shuddered at the memory of the dark, cold torture room underneath Lord Michael's estate. He'd been incredibly creative, but he hadn't managed to break Dean. In the end, Dean had been worth more as an offering than as a captive.

The Knights of Hell served King Lucifer, a volatile former-angel who was hell-bent on destroying everything that Heaven stood for. The other demon king, Crowley, was far less invasive. He didn't really attack other kingdoms, as long as they left him alone and didn't object if he took some of their citizens and forced them to fight in his arena.

Dean hadn't really ever wanted to be a Knight of Hell. Bullied into it by John Winchester, his father, he had trained and fought reluctantly. He'd never really tried to work his way up the ranks, which was why the Armies of Heaven had decided he wasn't really worth it.

Now he was here. He had no idea what was in store, who he would fight, how long he would last. All he knew was that he'd fight until his last breath.

Footsteps sounded. Dean looked up, emerald green eyes landing on the group of guards trudging down the hall.

Now _that_ was a sight you didn't see every day.

Dean had seen his fair share of Seraphs, archangels, and regular old angels. But this particular Seraph practically _glowed_ with power. He looked like he belonged in the glowing white armor of the heavenly armies, like the luminescent, transparent blades belonged in his hands.

His ocean blue eyes, colored like the edges of the midnight sky, were stormy and glowing with grace. Dean could see a thick metal band on his wrist, where Enochian symbols surely burned. A grace-suppressor.

To Dean's dismay, the guards shoved the angel all the way down the hall, then came to a stop in front of his cell. They opened it, shoved the angry Seraph inside, and locked the door again.

"You've been selected as a part of a new tournament His Majesty is putting on," one of the guards began, speaking in a flat, bored tone to the angel and the demon. "You will be partners, responsible for keeping each other alive. If one of you dies, you will become a solo fighter and will be at a serious disadvantage. You will fight with other duos in the arena. The final team alive will be set free."

Dean narrowed his eyes. Free? All they had to do was kill everyone else?

"You cannot kill anyone outside of the arena. You cannot cheat. You cannot refuse to fight. Failure to follow these rules will result in the deaths of participating parties," one of the other guards continued. "What your partner does will not reflect upon you."

_I am_ not _fighting alongside that stupid feather-duster_ , Dean snarled in his head. The angel looked like he was having similar thoughts.

"We must fight together?" he demanded in a deep, rumbling voice. "Can we not be placed with beings of our own kind?"

"I agree with the thesaurus over there," Dean growled. "I don't want anything to do with angels."

"You're stuck with each other, so you'd better figure it out," the guards replied, snickering.

With that, they walked away.

The angel turned, narrowing his deep blue eyes at Dean. Dean bared his teeth at him, fighting the flicker of fear he felt at the intensity of the hatred in the angel's gaze. For a moment, they stared each other down.

Dean's tail was curled up behind him, poised like a scorpion's. While it didn't have a poisonous barb, it did have a sharp tip and Dean had used his tail to defend himself more than once. His horns weren't as effective, sweeping backward like the deer of the plain, but he had used them for intimidation numerous times.

The angel's wings betrayed his own displeasure, if his face didn't do it enough. They were flared, their feathers puffed up, looming large behind him. Dean resisted the urge to back down, the wings making the angel look far larger than he was.

_He's nothing without his grace. I could kill him right now if I wanted to._

"Do not think I won't kill you the first chance I get," the angel said quietly, his deep voice lethal.

"Right back at ya, buddy," Dean shot back, baring his sharp white teeth at the angel.

He leaned against the back of the cell, the only solid wall. The other three were made of metal bars. The angel flared his wings in warning and retreated to the other end of the cell. There was now around fifteen feet between the two, but it felt like nothing.

Dean snarled at the angel one last time before turning and watching as the guards brought another prisoner through, putting him in a cell a little farther down.

Partner or not, the angel was a dead man. And after he'd killed him, Dean would win this whole damn competition. 

All by himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLOOOOO, everyone! How are you all? It's good to be back!
> 
> I think you'll like this story. I certainly think it has a lot of potential, as long as I remember that it's supposed to be a slow burn. . . ;)
> 
> I'll be posting every other day. Chapters will be around a thousand words each. Also, yes, I know this seems a lot like Hunger Games. I even made the reference. Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins. I do not own it. This story wasn't really inspired by Hunger Games either, but some elements definitely appear.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Two**

The demon was annoying, to say the least. If it weren't for the death threat, Castiel would have already ripped his head off with his bare hands.

As it as, there was a competition to win.

The whole debacle reminded him of the human novel _The Hunger Games_ , but with supernatural creatures, an arena, and an asshole partner.

They said nothing to each other, watching instead as new prisoners were dragged in. They came in varying stages of anger, from aggressive to submissive. The submissive ones, Castiel decided, would die first.

The prisoners on their left were a duo of werewolves, murmuring to each other in their language. To the right, a ghoul and a young, sick-looking faerie watched the proceeds. Neither of their neighbors would last long, if Castiel were anyone to bet.

The day passed. New prisoners were brought in every few minutes. Soon, the hallway was filled with anxious murmurs.

Dinner came by, the guards throwing two packets of food and bagged water into the cells.

Castiel was nearest to the cell door. For a moment, he thought about taking both packets of food and water. However, one look at the murderous glint in the demon's eye had him grabbing one of each and sitting back in his corner. The demon did the same, his tail still poised to attack. Castiel's wings were still puffed with a warning, and he could tell they were seriously intimidating the faerie in the cage to the right.

Castiel ate the food. The bread, meat, and cheese were stale and, in the cheese's case, moldy. The water was warm and gritty, and it tasted like the plastic bag it had been encased in, but it was still water.

The demon ate and drank like he hadn't done so in years. Castiel rolled his eyes at the beast's lack of manners and ate much slower, savoring his food. 

Too soon, it was gone. They were required to place their trash next to the cell door where the guards would collect it. If every piece wasn't accounted for, they were given a quick, savage beating before the guard moved on.

_Whatever happens in this arena, it won't be easy to win_ , Castiel thought, watching a vamp get beaten for trying to keep the plastic bag the water had come in. _It won't be easy to survive, either._

Castiel was suddenly struck with a wave of homesickness. He wished one of his brothers was by his side right now, ready to face whatever they would together. Of course, Castiel would never wish for his siblings to be put in the path of harm, but this was easily one of the worst predicaments he had ever been in.

He had been captured by Crowley's demons on the way back from a scouting mission. They'd placed a message explaining his disappearance in his bag and sent the horse galloping back to Heaven's main base, then loaded Castiel in the back of a carriage and driven him here. The angel was still seething about how easily he'd been taken.

_I shouldn't have gotten comfortable. I should have stayed alert._

_But I didn't._

_And I'm here._

Castiel looked around, his eyes landing on the demon in the corner. His supposed 'partner'. He wondered if the demon was a good fighter, if he knew anything about surviving. He looked gaunt, as if he hadn't eaten in a while, and Castiel briefly wondered if that was the reason he'd wolfed his food.

"I suppose we should get to know each other if we're going to be fighting as partners," Castiel finally said. The demon jumped a little, as if he'd forgotten he wasn't alone in the cell.

He snorted. "I don't have to do shit. Especially talking to you, feather-duster."

Castiel gritted his teeth, anger rising faster than he'd expected or could control. "You're lucky to have me as a partner."

"Am I? What if I don't want to see your oh-so-wonderful angel skills?" the demon snarled, tone going from mocking to hate-soaked in a split second. "What if I cut the wings off your back and make you bleed out on the sand?"

_He must have a personal problem with angels_ , Castiel realized. He gritted his teeth, the wings the demon had threatened flaring up in righteous anger. "That's assuming you could even survive if you attacked me."

"I've survived angels before," the demon said bitterly, laughing. The sound had no warmth to it. "I think I could do it again."

Castiel wondered what had been done to him to make him so angry and hateful.

_He's a demon. It's in their nature._

The conversation ended at that. The lights flicked off after the guards made their night rounds. Castiel curled in a ball in his corner of the cell, feeling relatively safe with the death penalty hanging over their heads if they killed anyone.

That didn't mean he slept well, however. When dawn came, Castiel's eyes were sticky with sleep and his body ached. He groaned a little as he sat up.

"Couldn't sleep without your warm, soft bed?" a mocking voice from the corner asked. The demon was already awake, looking as if he hadn't slept well either.

Castiel ignored him, looking to the guards who threw their 'breakfast' through the bars.

Castiel's cell mate took the food and water first, throwing Castiel's portion straight at his head. The angel caught it with deft agility, staring the demon straight in the eyes.

"You are a waste of life," he said bluntly. 

The demon guffawed at that and tore open his packet of food.

Breakfast was the same as dinner. Castiel ate slowly again, savoring the food. The demon slowed down too, though he guzzled his water.

They put their trash next to the cell door and sat back. Castiel wondered if fighting would begin today, or if there would be more beating around the bush. Maybe they had more prisoners to transport.

His question was soon answered by the guards coming through to give more announcements.

"Today is the first day of fighting," one guard read from a piece of paper. "Partners will be given an hour after breakfast to train. Violence and physical harm against opponents during training is not tolerated and will be enforced by the death penalty. That is all."

Castiel glanced over at the demon, who was frowning at the guard.

"Nervous?" Castiel asked. He couldn't help himself.

Not missing a beat, the demon sneered at him. "You wish."

Castiel glared at him, but they didn't speak anymore. Not until the guards came and yanked them out of their cells, the prisoners flowing down the hallway with quiet murmurs.

Castiel and the demon went with the crowd. They exited the long hallway of cells, leaving through the North Gate.

In the stands where crowds would soon be watching, heavily armed guards patrolled. The sun was rising in the east, the top of the arena glowing gold. The sand was cast in blue shadows.

"Thinking of flying back to your mommy?" the demon mocked, seeing the angel looking at the sky. Castiel sighed. He hadn't even realized the demon was still next to him. He'd honestly thought-and hoped-that he had disappeared in the crowd.

"Do you not have better things to do than run your mouth?" Castiel asked.

"Other than kicking your ass? No," the demon said, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"We're _partners_ ," Castiel snarled, exasperated. "We're supposed to work together."

"Then it's a good thing I don't play by the rules," the demon sneered.

Castiel glared down at him for a moment. He was shorter than the angel by a few inches, his shoulders smaller in width. In general, Castiel was a big angel. He was larger than the demon, which was definitely interesting.

Before Castiel could think through the implications of that revelation, the guards were herding them into the center of the sandy arena circle.

A series of stations had been set up, several blunted weapons scattered around. More armed guards milled about, eyes alert and watchful.

Castiel decided to make the most of their time in the arena. He headed over to a sword station and found some dummies, then started swinging. The sword wasn't as light as the angel blades, but it was certainly better than nothing.

He wasn't sure how long he trained, but he made sure to hold back. No use going all out and painting himself a target. Some of the other fighters were doing that exact thing, firing arrows from across the arena and landing bullseye after bullseye like it was nothing.

When the hour was up, they were herded back into their cells. Castiel was a little sweaty and tired, and he was grateful for the break from the hot arena. With the sun rising, it was beginning to heat like an oven.

The demon said nothing to Castiel. The angel wasn't sure what he'd been doing during training, and he didn't particularly care. All he cared about was the distance between them, the fifteen or so feet of space between one corner and the other.

An hour or so passed. Castiel became aware of a steadily rising roar after a while. He tried to ignore it, but soon it was impossible to ignore, filling the air and causing the ground to rumble. The other prisoners were taking notice too, sitting up and looking around, murmuring fearfully at each other.

Before he could ask the question, the witch in the cell across from them did. "What is that horrid noise?" she cried, terrified.

For a moment, no one said anything. Finally, Castiel's cell mate replied in a voice barely audible over the rumble, "People."

The crowds had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think?
> 
> I'll see you all soon. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Have a great daaaaay! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> Sooo. . . this one is a little shorter. :( Sorry. They will get longer, I promise.
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy hearing about how awful John Winchester is. ;)

**Three**

Dean couldn't fight the anxiety that had wormed its way into his chest as the time had passed. Finally, the guards came, a few hours after the crowds arrived. They didn't come anywhere near the cell Dean shared with the stuck-up angel.

Instead, they took a pair of witches and someone else he couldn't see. The angel watched them go, the apprehension they were all feeling showing in the furrow of his brow.

"How many do you think will fight today?" he asked, his deep voice a rumble of whiskey over gravel.

For once, Dean didn't think to retort with something mocking. The pressure of the situation was weighing on everyone, and he was no exception. "I don't know."

The angel didn't reply, just frowned deeper.

The crowd narrated most of the fight for the prisoners in the cells, their screams of excitement rising on the air, punctuating when something happened.

The noise was like nothing Dean had ever experienced. It was everywhere, in the air, the ground, his chest. It rattled his bones, shook the arena to its very foundations. When the crowd roared in excitement, Dean could scream as loud as he wanted and no sound would reach his ears.

Soon, though, the fight was over. The winning duo returned.

The witches.

The guards came deeper into the hall. For a moment, it seemed like they would go to Dean's shared cell. But they walked right past to the next one, pulling out the ghoul and the faerie, who promptly started crying.

"She's going to die," the angel murmured next to them. 

Dean remembered what he'd seen at training, the way the faerie watched the arrow-shooting as if she'd wanted to join in. "Maybe. She might have hidden talents," he said.

It wasn't meant to be argumentative, and the angel looked at him with a surprised look on his face, as if he had been expecting Dean to say something degrading or mocking.

_He has every reason. I've been nothing but awful to him._

_He's an angel. He deserves it, and he cannot be trusted._

_Not ever._

Dean clenched his jaw and looked back at the hallway, as if he could see all the way to the arena. 

He couldn't, and the only way he knew when the fight was over was when the crowd screamed its approval for a long time. Soon after, the faerie returned to her cell. Alone.

Dean saw the angel watching her, eyes narrowed in observation.

As the next fight was staged, Dean took the time to observe his 'partner'. The angel was tall when he stood to his full height, and his body was packed with lean muscle. He looked deceptively fast and his blue eyes glowed with intelligence. All in all, Dean found himself a bit glad the angel was his partner. The alternative was as his enemy.

_All angels are enemies. What would Dad think of me right now?_

Dean shuddered at the thought of John Winchester. The demon's 'unconventional' punishments were worse than the torture Dean had endured at the hands of the Armies of Heaven, in some ways.

The Armies of Heaven had focused on physical pain, on blood and bone. John Winchester had enjoyed locking Dean in a dark closet and not letting him out until he begged for mercy. Sure, he'd been quick to use a belt, but his real lessons had been taught using other methods.

_His lessons made me strong. I'm alive today because of him_ , Dean thought, trying not to focus on how terrible his inner self was at lying. 

_At least he never did that to Sam_ , Dean amended. _Sam was the only one who mattered._

For a moment, Dean allowed himself to smile a little at the memory of how excited Sam had been to be accepted into the human college. He was so damn smart, they couldn't _not_ accept him. And John had been proud of Sam too. Proud in a way he had never been of Dean.

_That's okay. As long as Sammy was happy, I was._

Sam was probably still at Stanford, not realizing that Dean had been taken captive half a year ago. That was okay too. The less Sam worried, the more he could focus on his studies and become normal.

John had pushed for them both to become Knights, especially after their mother was killed in a house fire when Dean was four and Sam was one. But Sam hadn't been built for battle, for killing. He was too smart, and he had excelled in school. 

Fighting, killing, defending. . . that was all Dean was good for.

He was snapped out of his thoughts as the guards dragged back a single, wailing werewolf. His partner had died, and he was the only survivor of the fight. There were only three or so a day, but with four gateways and roughly a hundred pairs per gate, the tournament would take a while.

Dinner came. Dean ate without tasting the food, eyes on the prisoners around them. They were far more subdued, now that they knew what was happening and how things would go. The angel didn't speak, just ate slowly, evidently deep in thought.

Dean didn't talk to him, instead opting to curl up in his corner of the cell. Despite the hot days, the nights were frigid, and Dean _hated_ the cold. He tried to keep himself as warm as possible, curling into a tiny ball.

Dean ignored the feeling of the angel's eyes boring into him as he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously range from hating John Winchester to loving him. I guess in this fic. . . I hate him.
> 
> The chapters will get longer. This was just a filler, I promise, meant to show everyone how the arena is supposed to work. Also, if you were wondering, demons and angels live side-by-side with humans. That's why Sam is going to a human school. If that seems weird, please just roll with it? It's not an important part of the story.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Love you all!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I hope you're all doing okay. I know the world is pretty crazy right now, and I wish the best for all of you and your families.
> 
> I have another chapter. It's short again, but I promise the next few will be longer. This one has some of the elements some of you are looking for. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Four**

When Castiel woke up the next morning, he found the demon watching him.

He stared back, challenging.

The demon had the greenest eyes Castiel had ever seen. If it weren't for the anger that constantly twisted his face, he might even be handsome. His jaw was strong, clean-cut, and his light brown hair was cut to a pleasing length, buzzed on the sides and longer on top.

They stared at each other for a moment longer, before Castiel broke the silence.

It must have been early morning. No one else was stirring. No one else heard as the angel's deep voice rumbled quietly, "You're a submissive demon."

The demon across from Castiel flinched a little. He sat up and glared at the angel, his body a hard line of tension. "What the fuck do you mean?"

Castiel tilted his head to the side, not even deterred by the raging hatred underlining the demon's words. "You're a submissive demon. You're smaller than most demons, and your eyes flick down sometimes around the bigger ones."

The demon bared his teeth. "Force of habit. You're full of shit."

"I'm right, aren't I?" Castiel asked, surprised. 

"I've literally just been telling you you aren't," the demon said incredulously.

"But I am. That's why you're defensive about it," Castiel said. He tilted his head even more, looking the demon in the eyes. He looked away uncomfortably, green flicking to the floor. "I'm not judging you."

_That_ pissed him off.

The demon snarled for real, baring his teeth, eyes flashing red. "Listen, motherfucker. Whether I'm meant to take some demon's dick or not is none of your business, and it won't hold me back from killing everyone in that damned arena, even you."

Castiel refused to be baited into a fight. "Very well," he said amenably.

If anything, his lack of challenge seemed to make the demon even angrier. "Fuck you, you fucking bastard."

Castiel said nothing, instead turning away to look somewhere else. His every instinct told him to stay alert, to watch the demon carefully. He was primed to attack.

But he did nothing. Just sat down with a snarl of anger. Tension radiated from the corner, filling the air between them.

Castiel sighed, looking at the prisoners around them. He had no idea if they were fighting today. No idea if he would even still be in this cell tonight.

That thought, surprisingly, didn't scare him as much as it should have.

They weren't taken to the arena that day either. The crowds appeared and screamed just the same. Four fights were held that day. But Castiel and his cell mate weren't part of them. 

The air in the cell was awkward, hot with tension and some sort of hatred. It wasn't directed right at him, Castiel realized, but at angels in general. 

Again, Castiel wondered what had happened to the demon to make him hate angels so much.

That night, the demon didn't even eat. He just sat in his corner, moodily glaring at the floor. Castiel ate his partner's share of the food, figuring there was no use letting it go to waste.

That night, the angel had a hard time falling asleep. He was restless, thinking too much about the fights to come tomorrow, about what would happen if it was him.

_What will I do? Will I die? Fight? Win? Will I kill another angel, if that's who I have to go against? Will I really kill my partner, like I've been threatening to do?_

_He's been threatening me. If he attacks, especially at a critical moment, what will happen? What if I don't make it back?_

Castiel sighed, resting his head against the bars.

What weapons would be provided? Who would they fight? What if-

Castiel's thoughts were cut off by a soft whimper from the corner.

Noises weren't uncommon in the prison. It was surprising how easily a tournament of death could give a being nightmares. But this. . .

Castiel sat up, listening.

There it was again. A soft whimper, a whine of pain. Castiel blinked in the darkness, suddenly horribly certain of where it was coming from.

_No, it's the werewolves in the next cell. It can't be. . ._

Castiel's doubts were waved away, however, when the demon spoke. It was in a soft, broken whisper, but the deep voice was unmistakable.

"No. No. . . please. Please, I don't know anything. . . No. . . "

Castiel listened, the darkness making the moment seem even more intimate. He wondered if he should tell the demon that he'd heard his nightmare. That he'd heard him begging, that he knew that he had been tortured for information before.

It wasn't uncommon, especially with the war going on, but it made Castiel's curiosity about the demon's past even stronger. 

_I don't even know his name._

Castiel closed his eyes as another whimper fluttered out of the demon's throat. He sounded so broken, so scared, so unlike the mocking, cruel thing he was in the daylight.

Something in Castiel, the protective side he rarely allowed to take over, shifted. Something in him wanted to wake the demon up from his nightmare, soothe his whimpers of fear.

He couldn't. It would be absurd, not to mention badly received.

So Castiel didn't. He shoved down the faint stirrings of protectiveness, closing his eyes to try to get some sleep. Even though he might die tomorrow. Even though the demon still hadn't stopped whimpering.

Even though he knew he would get no sleep tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo. . . No fighting. The boys are still being idiots. What's new?
> 
> Once again, I hope you and your families are doing well.
> 
> Also, a note, if some of you are confused. Submissive demons are a little like Omegas. However, I didn't want this to be another A/B/O fic, and I didn't want to include all the things like heats and slick and stuff. Being a submissive demon means Dean is smaller and more inclined to submit to bigger demons if they made an advance on him. That's all. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. ;)
> 
> See you all soon!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I hope you're all doing well.
> 
> The world is pretty crazy right now, huh? If any of you need to talk, I'm totally open and will definitely listen. I hope you're all doing okay. Our city finally got quarantined, so I'm looking at several weeks of writing and playing guitar. Hopefully I can finish this story early and start posting daily instead of every other day, though!
> 
> Enjoy this chapter! :)

**Five**

"This is not working."

The rumbling voice brought Dean out of his thoughts. He turned to look at the angel, sitting on the farthest side of the cell possible, surprise keeping him from thinking up a smart remark.

"What isn't?" he asked, wary. He was exhausted. He hadn't slept well, his sleep plagued by dreams of things past. He just was glad he hadn't made any noise, or he was sure the angel wouldn't let him hear the end of it.

"This dynamic. We're going to die if we go into the arena without even knowing each others' names," said angel continued. The tension hadn't gone away, and neither were very comfortable with the conversation they were having.

"Sure we can," Dean said. "We've managed it this long."

"And if we end up dead because you're wrong?"

"Then it's better than going against what we both believe is right," Dean shot back.

The tension thickened. The angel shut his mouth, jaw ticking with anger.

It was true. Neither of them believed the other was really the 'good guy'. They had both been brought up to believe opposite things. Demons thought that angels were self-righteous, selfish bastards. Angels thought demons were heartless monsters.

And Dean? He had no idea what he thought. Had no idea what the angel across from him thought, either.

"I don't. . . I don't believe my flock is-is always. . . I don't think my flock is always right about. . . everything," the dark-haired angel finally forced out, sounding like he was swallowing nails. 

_About demons_ , the angel was saying.

Dean gritted his teeth. He would have gotten beaten by his father for even talking to an angel, let alone admitting that John was wrong and that not all angels were selfish bastards. 

No matter if he believed it or not.

"Good for them," Dean said quietly. 

His cell mate stared at him. "What do you have against angels, demon?"

Dean snorted. What did he have against angels?

They'd captured him. Tortured him. And yes, he'd killed some of them before, had made his way onto their hit list by simply completing training and becoming a Knight. But he'd never asked to be one. Had never taken pleasure in the killing.

All he'd wanted was to make his father proud.

_Alright, cut off the pity party. I_ did _kill angels. Doesn't matter if I enjoyed it or not. They don't care. They had a right to torture me for information._

But what did that translate to? Did that give him a reason to hate angels? Did that give him a reason to hate the angel he was going to be forced to fight with?

Dean was suddenly very tired. He had no idea. He didn't know anything anymore. All he wanted was to curl up and go to sleep, but the roar was beginning to build, the crowds beginning to appear. And somehow, Dean knew that they weren't going to get lucky today.

Sure enough, after the first fight was finished, the guards came past Dean and the angel's cell. They didn't continue on.

One of them unlocked the door. Dean stood, feeling lightheaded. The angel looked pale, like he couldn't quite believe this was happening.

Dean couldn't, either.

But he walked forward, put one foot in front of the other. He could sense the angel doing the same beside him, his pale face the only giveaway that he was feeling any shock at all.

Dean walked as if in a trance down the hall, where he'd walked only hours before to go to training. The trip felt different now. Longer. Colder.

They came to a stop at the entrance to North Gate.

"To move on, you must eliminate the other team," the guard at the gate said. He almost sounded bored. He glanced down at a script, a list of rules. "You cannot interact with the crowd. You must only use the weapons provided and your own bodies. You will be provided a single First Aid Kit after your fight. No more. That is all. Prepare."

Dean swallowed thickly, suddenly fighting against words that wanted to shove their way out of his mouth. He kept his eyes on the bright sand spread before them. He knew if he looked at the angel beside him, those words would come bubbling out.

The guard stepped away.

The other team was called into the arena, the rising screams of the crowd deafening.

Dean swallowed the vomit that suddenly rose in his throat.

One of the creatures was an angry-looking poltergeist. He was watching the crowd with barely concealed disgust. But the hellhound beside him was howling excitedly with the crowd, nearly invisible on the arena sands.

Fear, suddenly real and sharp, struck through Dean.

"My name is Castiel," said a deep voice beside Dean, barely audible over the thundering of the crowd.

Dean turned his head and saw the angel looking at him, deep blue eyes piercing.

The world seemed to pause for a second. The crowd noise faded to the background, the reality of the death they were likely facing dimming.

Dean looked at the angel, Castiel. His green eyes stared into the angel's blue ones. 

It wasn't just a name. It was an extended hand. A bridge. An alliance. A lifeline. And very likely the difference between life and death.

The choice was Dean's. Castiel had given him everything he could.

The demon looked back at their opponents, the sun gilding them with dangerous golden light.

"Nice to meet you, Castiel," he said after a moment, his deep voice somehow cutting through the crowd's noise. The air hung between them, heavy with the gravity of the situation, the death that howled beyond the archway of the gate.

The guards motioned for them to step forward. Dean couldn't force his legs to move. Couldn't step forward and face death. But he tried.

Instead of stepped out of the North Gate, the words that had been trying to emerge finally did.

"My name's Dean."

The angel smiled then, the pearly white of his teeth splitting the tan skin of his face. "It's nice to meet you, Dean."

"Get a move on!" one of the guards behind them shouted over the din of the crowd.

Dean swallowed thickly and found that his knees could bend, his legs could move. He looked up at the angel, at his new partner.

Castiel nodded once.

As one, angel and demon stepped out onto the arena sand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm soooorrry. . . No fighting. It will be in the next chapter, I promise. At least the boys know each other's names! It's all a part of the plan, anyway. ;)
> 
> Remember, I am totally open and will listen if you need to talk. I hope you're all doing okay!
> 
> See you soon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Once again, I hope you and your families are doing well.
> 
> The day has finally arrived! Get ready for some fighting. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Six**

The roar of the crowd was deafening. So much worse than it was in the tunnel. The sound bounced off the arena walls, ricocheting back and forth, thundering in Castiel's ears.

His partner, Dean, glared up at the crowd, at the sun bearing down on them.

Castiel's gaze scanned the arena. He saw a large wooden table sitting on the sand to the right, an assortment of weapons laid out on its surface. Some were bloody. Some gleamed in the harsh sunlight.

As one, angel and demon walked to the table. The guard motioned for them to take one each, the ability to speak lost in the scream of the crowd.

Across the arena, the poltergeist and the hellhound were doing the same. Castiel watched as the poltergeist levitated a flail, the spiked balls and heavy chains rising in the air like no exertion was needed. The hellhound merely put on a helmet and grinned at Castiel from beneath the gleaming metal armor.

_We're going to die._

The flail and the poltergeist made sure Castiel would stay grounded. The hellhound's helmet and the poltergeist's flail meant no long-range weapons.

Castiel grabbed a sword. Dean grabbed a gun.

It was small, pathetically so, and when Dean checked the chamber, there were only three rounds lodged in it. Castiel raised his eyebrows, then looked up to Dean. The demon's green eyes challenged the angel's blue ones, as if willing him to argue.

Castiel didn't.

They turned, just in time for the red flare to fire and the fight to begin.

The hellhound lost no time racing toward them. Castiel had enough thought to step forward, putting space between his body and the arena wall so he wasn't cornered right off the bat. 

Beside him, Dean was doing the same, almost as if they had shared the same thought.

Castiel had no time to ponder what that meant. The hellhound was upon them.

It attacked Castiel first, going straight for his head. The angel ducked and swiped upward with his sword, hoping to hack off the creature's head. The blow deflected off the metal of its helmet, creating a deep groove and causing the hellhound's entire body to fly sideways with the force of Castiel's swing.

The angel was suddenly shoved to the ground. He grunted as the force of Dean's body slammed his own into the sand. Castiel was about to demand what the reason for the action was when the flail sailed over their heads and embedded itself in the arena wall.

The crowd screamed.

Castiel watched with barely concealed horror as the flail ripped itself free of the wall and came smashing for the angel and demon on the ground, chains whistling with the speed of its path.

Castiel was yanked upward and out of the way, Dean thinking fast enough for both of them.

The hellhound came at them from the side, Castiel barely deflecting its attack. The poltergeist swung at them with the flail, the spiked balls whistling in the air next to Castiel's ear. They were being shoved back, conceding a few steps every few seconds

When Castiel's back hit the arena boundary, the metal hot from the afternoon sun, he felt a jolt of pure fear run through him.

He had never fought without his grace. The band around his wrist, inscribed with Enochian symbols, was heavy and cold. Castiel had never not had access to his enormous well of power. Had never faced two opponents so evenly matched, who worked together in tandem like these did.

_I have to work with Dean. If we don't start working together, we'll die._

As if reading his mind, Dean ducked under Castiel's next deflection of the hellhound's attack.

A bang sounded, cutting through the crowd's screaming. The hellhound howled, falling to the sand. Blood spread from a hole in its chest, dead center and shot with such accuracy Castiel was momentarily frozen with shock.

The crowd roared.

Dean shouted something at Castiel, ducking as the flail came at them again.

"What?" Castiel bellowed.

Dean shouted at him again, his voice lost in the crowd.

"I can't hear you!" Castiel shouted back, shaking his head. Dean pulled him down just as the flail rushed toward their heads again. The wind of its wake ruffled the top of Castiel's hair. While they were on the sand, Dean pulled Castiel's head near his own, screaming into the angel's ear.

"IT'S NOT DEAD!" Dean roared, over the scream of the crowd.

Castiel nodded, just barely understanding what the demon was saying.

He ducked as the flail attacked again and rolled to a standing position. As Dean charged the poltergeist, Castiel sprinted to the left. 

The hellhound was indeed still alive, struggling to stand with the wound in its chest. It was hacking up blood, but it was on its feet.

Without giving it a chance to catch its breath, Castiel swung and hacked its head clean off its shoulders, helmet attached. 

He felt satisfaction for only a second before the crowd screamed in excitement again.

Castiel turned and shouted in panic.

Dean had finally been hit by the flail. It had glanced off his shoulder, but the force had been enough to shove it out of socket and create deep grooves that bled onto the sand. The demon had fallen to his knees, frantically clicking through the empty chambers of the gun he held with his uninjured arm, trying to find one with a bullet in it. The poltergeist advanced with a grin on its face, the flail swinging back around to attack again.

Castiel's gaze met Dean's. The demon's green eyes were filled with pain and fear, the emotions so stark they set Castiel's heart stuttering in his chest.

Desperately, the demon fired a single round. The poltergeist blocked it easily with the flail, laughing with the human vessel it wore.

Castiel knew that even if he sprinted, he would never make it. His eyes met Dean's again, and in that moment, they both knew what had to happen.

Castiel began to run forward, heading for the poltergeist and Dean. The demon pulled back and threw the gun with all his might, the pistol flying through the air. It sailed over the poltergeist's head, glinting in the sunlight.

The throw was either incredibly accurate, or it was lucky. Castiel caught the loaded gun in stride-not stopping to think of what might happen if it went off-raised it, and fired.

It was definitely luck that had the final round in that chamber. The bullet soared through the air and embedded itself into the back of the poltergeist's exposed head.

The flail fell to the ground a few feet away from Dean, dropping from the sky like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The poltergeist fell to the sand in much the same way, blood and shattered skull splattered across the back of its head.

The crowd screamed its approval.

Dean fell forward, pressing his forehead against the sand. Castiel tried to go over to him, but the guards were dragging him away, back to the North Gate. The angel could only watch as the guards yanked Dean to a standing position and shoved him after.

They were taken back to their cell, the next contestants already being led to the entrance of the gate.

As promised, a First Aid Kit was shoved into Castiel's hands as he was pushed back into his cell. He stumbled, exhausted, and found that food had been delivered too. The winners were always fed an extra serving after their fights, though normal prisoners were only given two meals a day.

Dean stumbled and fell as he was pushed into the cell. 

For a moment, demon and angel just looked at each other, eyes shadowed with horror from the fight they had just taken part in, the murders they had been forced to commit. Then Dean's injured shoulder became apparent, and Castiel looked down at the small metal box that served as their First Aid Kit.

"I can put your shoulder back in place," Castiel offered quietly. His ears were still ringing, and he wondered if Dean could hear him. The demon didn't speak, just nodded with gritted teeth.

Castiel knelt beside him, bracing a hand on the demon's back. Dean flinched at his touch, but he didn't pull away. Castiel placed his hand on the shoulder in question and frowned at the dislocated joint.

"On the count of three," Castiel said. Before Dean could nod his agreement, Castiel shoved the shoulder back into place.

A choked, horrible noise shoved its way out of Dean's throat, twisting something in Castiel's chest.

Dean blinked away involuntary tears of pain and held out a shaking hand. It took Castiel a second to realize that he was asking for the First Aid Kit.

Castiel gave him the small metal box, sitting back. Something like disappointment flickered through him, though it was unwelcome.

The message had been clear in Dean's pained green eyes. They were partners, allies, in the arena.

But outside of it, Castiel was no longer needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooorry. Did you forget it was supposed to be a slow burn? ;)
> 
> It will get better. Dean will pull his head out of his ass. Then the real fun begins.
> 
> Also, if you aren't familiar with my fics, I don't write smut. I'm working up to it, but it won't happen in this fic. If you're looking for random-but-still-kinda-hot sex in a prison cell, it ain't gonna happen here. Sorry. I'm sure, though, with the millions of Supernatural fics out there, you could find some like that. ;)
> 
> I hope you're all doing okay! Stay healthy!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone! I hope you're all doing well!
> 
> This chapter is pretty dark. There's torture and forced isolation, as well as mentions of abuse. Dean hasn't had a happy life. If you're triggered by that, please don't read!
> 
> Other than that, I hope you enjoy the story!

**Seven**

Dean's shoulder hurt like a bitch.

It swelled up while he ate the slice of bread with moldy cheese and forced down some water, though he felt like he was going to vomit as he did so. By the time the crowds left for the day, Dean's shoulder was an interesting shade of purple.

The angel hadn't spoken to him.

Castiel and Dean hadn't exchanged any words since they'd saved each others' lives in the arena. Multiple times. They hadn't spoken to any of the other prisoners either.

It wasn't that the air was awkward. But there was no friendliness, no camaraderie. They didn't even look at each other.

Dean still remembered the words the angel had spoken the day before. _You're a submissive demon._

Yes. It was true. He was the equivalent of an Omega in a werewolf pack. He was built smaller, unable to pack on muscle as well, his body primed for mating with a dominant demon. 

When his father, John, had realized that Dean's lack of size wasn't just a late growth spurt, he had beaten Dean so badly the boy had almost died. If it hadn't been for Dean's forward-thinking and incredible driving skills, he probably would have been dead. As it was, he'd managed to drive himself to the hospital before he'd bled out.

That had been the deciding factor in Dean's decision to join the Knights of Hell. At least then, he wasn't a complete disgrace to his father.

_Maybe that's why the angels let me go. I was too small and weak to really have been any use to them._

Dean sighed at that thought, leaning back against the wall. His shoulder screamed in pain, but he ignored it. Soon, the freezing stone soothed the ache of the relocated joint.

_At least it's my left shoulder. At least I won't have to use my non-dominant hand for sword-fighting._

There was a good side to everything, apparently. Dean almost snorted at the thought.

He closed his eyes a little, dinner settling in his stomach. Castiel hadn't said anything, the angel spending the day combing the sand out of his great dark wings.

They were beautiful, Dean realized. Each individual feather was dark and shiny, almost like oil. They seemed to reflect and eat light at the same time, a thousand colors swallowed and returned at the same time. The feathers were graceful, sweeping together into the form of a powerful wing, fitting together perfectly.

Idly, Dean wondered what it was like to run his hands through the wings. They looked soft. He could bet they were gentle, caressing skin. And they were probably warm, like great blankets of silk piled on top of each other.

_Stop! Why am I even thinking of this?_

He had pushed Castiel away for a reason. Hadn't tried to start a conversation for a reason. Outside of the arena, Castiel wasn't needed to survive. Dean wasn't looking to be friendly. 

Especially not toward angels.

Dean was still awake when the lights flicked off. He watched Castiel's body slowly relax as he fell asleep, his wings draped over him protectively.

Dean looked down at his own tail, not really meant for protecting him from the frigid cold, and sighed. His breath puffed white in the air. It was always freezing at night. He hated it.

The demon settled back in his corner, trying to fall asleep.

Fortunately, he managed it.

Unfortunately, sleeping didn't mean resting.

_The room was dark. Dean didn't remember when he'd last seen light. They always kept him in the dark here, and he hated it. Hated the cold, hated the silence. It reminded him of his father's closet, of the hellish boxes they'd locked him in during training for the Knights of Hell._

_That was why he was here._

_The Knights had tried to take on a village of angels too large. They'd fought back, and an injured Dean had been captured when his fellow Knights had fled and left him behind._

_Dean had been here for two months now. The tall angel with dark hair, the one with six shining wings, had told him that in between bouts of water-boarding. He'd alternated between demanding information from Dean and telling him how much he enjoyed hearing him scream._

_And with the six-winged angel-'archangel, he'd said-it definitely seemed personal. He seemed to hate demons with a fiery passion, and he definitely took pleasure in Dean's screams._

_The demon didn't know it yet, but when he finally broke and began begging three weeks later, the archangel would enjoy that most of all._

_For now, though, he was being put through the silent treatment again. Literally._

_They left him for days. As a demon, he could go for seven days without water and seventeen without food, before his fast metabolism demanded nutrients and started to shut down._

_It had been five days. Five days of cold, of darkness, of utter silence._

_Dean had almost broken, almost started begging, when they came in. It wasn't even that he needed water or food, though that was definitely required, but it was that demons weren't meant to be solitary creatures. Dean knew that isolating an angel intensified their loneliness and fear, and he figured the same happened to demons._

_When they asked him again what he knew, he started crying._

_It was embarrassing, humiliating. They acted like they cared, like they were listening. But he always said the same thing._

_"I don't know anything."_

_It was partially true. They wanted to know who the possible recruits for the Knights of Hell were, and there was no way in Heaven or Hell that Dean would betray Sammy like that. Other than that little bit of information, though, he had no knowledge of the Knights that the angels didn't already know._

_When he wouldn't tell them anything, they got angry. They hurt him. Dean lost his voice from screaming. And it was always the same thing, always the same question._

_"What do you know?"_

Dean woke with a start.

He was absolutely sure he'd been making noise now. His throat burned with the feeling of screaming, and Dean silently begged whoever would listen that he hadn't woken anyone.

Dean sat up, moaning softly at the pain in his shoulder.

His arm was tingling. He had the distinct feeling that something had been there only a few seconds before. Something soft and light.

Dean frowned, feeling around on the floor. Maybe the guards had missed a piece of plastic from the water bags.

There was nothing there.

Dean looked up and paused, eyes narrowed.

He was now completely sure that Castiel hadn't been in that position before. The angel could have moved around in his sleep, of course, but there was something off about how he was sleeping. It looked too awkward.

_No use trying to figure out the angel's sleep patterns now. I need to get sleep so I have energy for tomorrow._

With a sigh of frustration, Dean laid back down and closed his eyes. It was only when he was just drifting off that he realized that the angel had been sitting far too still to have been sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dean. . . :(
> 
> Don't worry, it will get better. And then there will be major amounts of fluff. ;)
> 
> See you all soon! You're amazing!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everybody!
> 
> Sooo. . . believe it or not, I've finished the entire story. I'm doing more editing, but I was wondering if you wanted me to start posting daily again once I finish. Tell me what you think!
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy the story!

**Eight**

They weren't called up the next morning. Castiel could see that Dean was struggling, that his shoulder was hurting him, in training. It made him grateful that they weren't going to be required to fight for a while. At least until the next round.

_Why do I care about a demon's wellbeing?_

_He's my partner. I need him to be able to watch my back._

Castiel sighed.

They had just returned to their cells, the crowds beginning to show up.

The angel groomed at his wings, trying to get rid of all the sand that had gotten lodged in them from the maneuvers he had been executing at training that morning.

"How do you do that?" 

The voice startled the angel. As he turned to look at Dean, he realized that the demon was as surprised he had spoken as Castiel.

"Do what?" the angel asked.

"Clean your wings," Dean said, looking uncomfortable now that he had to continue the conversation. "How do you reach all the way around?"

Castiel sighed, a ripple of sadness going through him for a second. "I don't. Usually I have a fellow angel to help me. It's a way of bonding, for angels to groom each others' wings."

Dean looked unsure for a moment, like he was physically fighting with two different sides. Finally, he asked, "What happens if you don't get your wings groomed?"

Castiel snorted. "They would fall apart. The feathers wouldn't work right. I couldn't fly, and if I let them go for long enough, I probably wouldn't be able to move them."

Dean frowned at that. "If you don't get them properly groomed, they stop working?"

"Yes," Castiel confirmed, grunting as he pulled out a stray feather.

There was a silence. Castiel looked up to see the demon deep in thought.

The quiet stretched, the roar of the crowd steadily getting louder. The spectators arrived day after day without fail, never seeming to tire of the bloody fights they watched in the arena.

Castiel finished with the feathers he could reach, grimacing in discomfort at the tickle of a few misplaced feathers on his back, where he couldn't quite fix them.

He sighed and sat back, watching as the guards came for prisoners. They had come for the werewolves to the left of Castiel and Dean's shared cell. The pair of wolves hadn't come back.

Dean was sitting with his back to the wall, still deep in thought. Castiel looked at his swollen shoulder, the bandages stiff with blood.

"Do you need new bandages?" he asked.

Dean looked at his shoulder, snorting. "Yes. Doesn't mean I'll get them."

Castiel sighed and nodded in agreement. They only got one First Aid Kit per fight, and Dean had already changed his bandages once and used up the last of them. 

Castiel had seen how important that single First Aid Kit could be. The large bird across from them had been clawed in his fight. His desperate duo had tried to save his life, even going so far as to use his own shirt as a bandage. The bird had eventually died in the end, bleeding out in the night. The witch had sobbed uncontrollably as the guards had cleared his body out of the cell, wailing about losing her only chance to win.

Castiel eyed Dean, wondering how he would react if the demon suddenly dropped dead.

_I would be disappointed. Not sad. I'm not sure I'll survive this arena without him. At least I know he's a dead shot with a pistol._

Castiel sighed, looking around him at all the other prisoners.

"What else do you use?"

Castiel looked to Dean again, surprised. This was the second time in a single day that the demon had initiated conversation. A faint stirring of hope flickered in Castiel's chest. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I've seen you using a sword before in training and in the arena. What else do you use?" the demon asked.

Castiel snorted. "I try to use everything. What about you?"

"Mostly guns, but I can do old school shit too if I have to. What's your weakness when it comes to weapons?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "What's yours?"

Dean smiled at him. There was no warmth, no trust, in his green eyes. "Wouldn't you like to know."

The days progressed like that. Castiel really didn't talk to Dean, and the demon didn't speak much either. When they did talk, the conversation was clipped and short. Not uncomfortable, and not mocking, but not friendly either. Still, it was better than the cold tension they'd had between them before.

Their treatment of each other lasted until a particularly cold night, when the ground turned to frost and Castiel couldn't stop shivering. None of them could.

Only the prisoners with built-in fur didn't really suffer. Everyone else was miserable. To make it worse, the lights went out in the storm that was raging outside, effectively plunging them all in darkness.

_Great time to stage a breakout, if I could figure out how to even get out of this damn cell._

Castiel crammed himself into the tightest ball he could. When he wrapped his wings around himself, it wasn't so bad. He was still freezing, but he knew he wouldn't die in the middle of the night.

His partner, on the other hand, wasn't doing so well.

Castiel frowned worriedly as he saw the pale pallor of Dean's face, the way his entire body shook.

As if on cue, a feather itched at Castiel's back. He winced, rubbing it against the cold metal bars. It did nothing to help.

A sudden thought struck the angel. He sat up, wincing at the temperature of the air.

"Dean."

Dean looked up at him, teeth chattering so hard Castiel was afraid the demon would bite off his own tongue. He was shivering intensely. "W-What?"

"I would like to make a deal with you," Castiel said.

Dean nodded, gesturing for Castiel to go on. He had curled himself into a tight ball, but it seemed to do nothing for the cold.

"If you pull out the feathers that are twisted on my back," Castiel said, "I'll use my wing to keep you warm."

"W-Won't d-d-do much-ch," Dean chattered.

"Better than freezing to death," Castiel pointed out.

The demon watched him for a moment, wariness in his eyes. He looked as if he was fighting with himself, with the voices in his head. Castiel waited, knowing the answer balanced on the edge of a knife.

Finally, Dean spoke again. "F-Fine."

Castiel held back a sigh of relief as he turned, allowing the demon's freezing fingers to prod numbly at his back. Castiel hissed through his teeth as a stray, twisted feather was plucked.

"S-Sorry, Cas-s-s-tiel. I c-can't use my f-f-fingers," Dean said.

Without thinking, the angel turned and grabbed the demon's two hands, trapping them between his own warm ones.

The demon's hands were like ice. They shook inside of Castiel's.

The angel looked up and found the demon staring at him, green eyes wide.

"I really want my feathers plucked, alright?" Castiel grumbled, hiding his embarrassment in fake frustration.

He wished he hadn't said it. Dean's eyes shuttered, the spark of light in their depths dying. He nodded stiffly. "Of c-course."

They sat like that for a moment, Dean's hands trapped between Castiel's. The angel released him as fast as he could, turning.

Dean returned to plucking feathers, his fingers far more agile than before. Soon, he'd managed to groom the spots Castiel couldn't reach.

"Thank you," Castiel said.

"S-Sure. D-D-Don't worry ab-b-bout your end-d of the d-deal," Dean chattered. His voice was as cold as his hands had been.

Castiel didn't try to extend his wings until the demon curled in a shivering ball at the far end of the cell.

Then the angel shuffled closer and spread his left wing wide, draping it over Dean's shivering body. He could feel the demon shaking with cold, but the feeling of another body underneath his wings was welcome. Wings were for hugging, and though Castiel definitely wasn't doing that, it still felt nice to have another being near him.

The angel closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, unaware that his cell mate had been wide awake the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. . . I think that one was on Castiel. Shame, angel, shame.
> 
> Don't worry, he'll fix it. He always does. ;)
> 
> ALSO, for those of you who have been worrying, THIS STORY HAS A HAPPY ENDING!
> 
> See you all soon! ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> This chapter isn't as fluffy as some of you want, but I promise, THE FLUFF IS COMING. Also, if I didn't say it before, this story has a happy ending. :) I hate sad stories.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Nine**

Dean hated to admit it, but he had the best night of sleep he'd had in a long time. The feathers seemed to regulate temperature, somehow knowing when he was too hot or too cold. They were silky soft, feeling almost like water against Dean's skin, if water was heated just right and heavy.

Dean didn't think about how much he enjoyed the feeling of the feathers on his skin. Didn't think about how his sleep was peaceful and deep for the first time in years. Didn't think about how nice the weight of the wing was, how it felt almost like a hug.

He pretended to be asleep when the angel woke and withdrew his wing. Dean fought the disappointment and sadness that ran through him when that happened. How much of it was real and how much of it was from involuntary submissive instincts, Dean had no idea.

It was cold without the feathers. Dean didn't pretend to be asleep for long.

Breakfast came, the same piece of bread and slice of slightly-moldy cheese with a bag of water, and Dean had a hard time forcing it down.

He couldn't shake what had happened the night before.

His submissive instincts, the ones that he worked so hard to keep down, had emerged in full force. He had embarrassed himself immensely, and he knew that the stupid angel at the far end of the cell wouldn't forget it.

Dean closed his eyes, remembering the feeling that had surged through him when he had knelt behind the angel. He had been _warm_ , there had been _heat_ coming off of him. His wing feathers were warm.

Dean wished, more than anything in his life, that his fingers hadn't been numb. That he could have felt the soft skin of Castiel's back, run his fingertips over it, if only to know the feeling of another's skin touching his.

Then the angel had turned and captured Dean's hands in his own, and Dean's brain had short-circuited.

Submissive demons were programmed much like Omegas in werewolf packs. They were designed to submit to more dominant demons, designed to raise the younglings of the demon horde.

Dominant demons were bigger, stronger, angrier. They packed on muscle, grew taller, and were generally louder than submissive demons. They fought more and were more suited for battle. Dean was a full six inches shorter than most demons, his body slenderer. He had to work a whole lot harder to put on muscle.

Worse, he had certain. . . instincts. He fought them down, day and night, burying them so deep he could have passed off as a dominant demon if it weren't for his size.

But they emerged sometimes. Surfaced, if only when he was at his weakest.

Dean hated the feelings he had sometimes. The desire, the _need_ , to be close to someone. To feel warmth and affection, of which he had been deprived for so long.

_There is no room for that in this arena._

There were only four fights that day. Sometimes there were less. Sometimes there were more. It all depended on how long it took one team to die.

By the time the crowds had left for the evening, Dean was tired. He had tried to work with his shoulder in training that morning, which hadn't been easy. It still hurt like a bitch, and he was sure he would get no sleep tonight. At least it had stopped bleeding. Dean didn't know what he would have done if he'd gotten an infection.

"You're very lucky, you know."

Dean looked up. He was surprised to see an old witch watching him from the cell across from them. He frowned at her. "Me?"

"Yes, you. You're a very lucky demon," she said.

Dean frowned, thinking of the tournament to the death he was currently being forced to fight in. "How so?"

The witch cackled. "You have a chance, boyo. You have a chance. That's more than most of us can say," she said, gesturing at her empty cell. Her partner must have died, then.

"Don't you? Don't we all?" Dean asked, still confused.

The witch snickered. "You have the angel, boyo. You two are the talk of the prison, some say. A Knight of Hell and an angel general."

"Angel general?" Dean asked, glancing behind him. Castiel was curled up, asleep, in the far corner of the cell. He relocated near the back when Dean had come up to the cell door to get food, the two trying to stay as far away from each other as they could.

"Oh, yes. Don't you know who he is?" the witch asked, sounding gleeful.

Suddenly curious, Dean frowned. "No. We don't. . . we don't talk much."

The witch cackled again. "That's General Castiel. Don't you know? They call him the Raven."

"Why?" Dean asked.

The witch shrugged, cackling. 

"Because he's cunning," said a vampire in the cell next to her, dropping into the conversation. "His wings are dark, too. Different than any other angels'. They say he's been touched by Death himself."

Dean snorted incredulously. "Sounds like a bunch of wives' tales and rumors."

"Maybe," the vampire said, eyes flicking from Dean to Castiel and back. "But he must be doing something right, to be so famous that there are even rumors at all."

The vampire had a point. Dean glanced back at his sleeping partner. "Why is this the first I've heard of him?"

The witch shrugged. "Caught up in your work?"

"My work _is_ hunting creatures like him down," Dean replied.

"True," the vampire said. "But he's always stuck more to the specialty operations."

"Hasn't failed a mission yet," the witch added, nodding knowingly.

"I definitely would have heard of him," Dean said. But he wondered. Would he have? He had never paid his work much mind, had never really wanted to know who they were killing so he wouldn't feel guilty later.

He wondered if he'd ever seen Castiel before without realizing it. He doubted it. The angel was pretty memorable.

"He was always close to his brothers. Lords Michael and Gabriel took down a lot of demons in their time," the vamp continued.

Dean felt cold all of a sudden. He stared back at Castiel.

_Castiel is Michael's_ brother?

_Did he know? Does he know?_

_Did he partake? Was he one of the faceless tormentors? Does he even remember me? Would he?_

Dean ignored the witch and vampire as they continued talking, their conversation eventually tapering off. The demon stared at the angel across from him, thoughts running through his mind.

When the guards made their final rounds and the lights shut off, Dean was still thinking.

The only recurring thought was one he should have known all along.

_Whatever is true, one thing is for sure._

_Castiel can't be trusted._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know the submissive thing was repetitive. I just thought it was important for everyone to be reminded of. XD
> 
> ALSO, two things. One, based on the responses I received from all you wonderful people, I will continue posting every other day. It adds to the suspense. ;)
> 
> Number two, I currently am working on a one-shot, which I will post soon. After that, however, I am trying to write another multi-chapter story. Would you be interested in another A/B/O fic?
> 
> Just wondering. Tell me what you think. :)
> 
> I love you all!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> This isn't my favorite chapter, but I promise, it is COMPLETELY necessary. Please bear with me! The fluff I've promised is coming, the relationship I've promised is coming. But this has to happen first.
> 
> :)

**Ten**

Disaster struck the next morning.

It started with breakfast.

The faerie in the cell next to them forgot to place her water bag near the cell door to be collected. She seemed to realize it at the same time as the demon guard walking past.

"What's this, you stupid bitch? You trying to horde trash? Think you can break out of here?" the guard demanded, his rough voice filling the hall.

The faerie's wide blue eyes filled with tears. She blinked confusedly at him, and Castiel realized she didn't understand.

"You fucking whore. You can't even speak? Answer me!" the guard shouted at her.

" _Please, I don't understand!_ " the faerie cried, her high voice choked with tears. Her words were spoken in the twisting tongue of the Fae.

"I don't understand your filthy language!" the guard snarled. "Answer me in a real tongue."

The faerie shook her head in confusion, sobbing.

"She doesn't understand you," Castiel said suddenly, the words forcing themselves out of his throat. "Please, may I interpret for her?"

The guard looked at him with barely concealed disgust. "Fine. Hurry the fuck up. I don't have all day."

Castiel turned to the faerie. " _He says that he needs the plastic water bag_ ," he told her. She looked relieved when he spoke to her in her own tongue, but at his words, she paled.

The bag in question was in the corner, most likely forgotten. The faerie scrambled to retrieve it, the guard laughing at her desperate motions. She gave it to him with her head ducked in submission, her hands shaking with fear.

The guard struck her across the face. Castiel feared he would do more, but he seemed to be running late for his rounds. He kept moving, growling at more prisoners as he passed their cells.

" _Thank you. You saved my life._ "

Castiel turned. The faerie was looking at him with grateful eyes, smiling. " _Of course_ ," he responded. " _But I didn't do much. Just translated._ "

" _I had no idea what he was saying. He would have beaten me for insolence_ ," the faerie pointed out. 

Silence fell for a moment as Castiel realized what that meant. Some of the other prisoners, sturdy fighting demons and large werewolves, could handle a beating as savage as the ones the guards dished out. But the faerie in the cell before him, with her delicate, frail body, wouldn't last through the night after a punishment like that. Castiel likely _had_ saved her life.

" _It was nothing_ ," Castiel finally said.

He made to turn away, but the faerie reached through the bars, the fingertips of her slender hand reaching for his arm. Castiel looked up at her in surprise.

" _It was not. To find a being with such honor as yourself is rare in these cages_ ," the faerie said. Castiel blinked in surprise.

" _Thank you. The compliment is much appreciated_ ," the angel replied. 

The faerie nodded. She sighed, looking around. Castiel followed her gaze, his eyes traveling over her empty cell. " _You know, he wasn't so bad, the ghoul. He gave his life for me in the end. Perhaps your partner isn't so bad either_ ," the faerie said.

Castiel sighed. " _It is possible. Though, he seems to have a unique hatred for my kind_."

" _Perhaps you should ask him why._ "

Castiel turned to look at the faerie, his eyes piercing hers. She shrugged delicately, looking up as a guard passed. He sneered at her but didn't do anything else.

" _Angel?_ "

Castiel turned back to the faerie. " _Yes?_ "

The faerie seemed to contemplate what she was about to say for a moment before she stuck out her hand again. " _I would like to give you a gift_."

Castiel's eyes widened as he realized what she was saying.

The faerie was offering to give him her magic. He could only use the it once, and depending on the faerie's gift and her level of power, it might or might not be even noticeable. But gifting their power away was one of the greatest gifts a faerie could give, and it rendered them so weak they usually didn't survive for long.

" _You cannot. You'll be powerless_ ," Castiel said.

The faerie smiled sadly. " _My partner is dead. My tribe is not coming for me. I will likely not survive the next fight. Why not give a chance to someone who deserves it, who is a good person, and so rare to find here?_ "

" _You must not give up_ ," Castiel said desperately.

" _I am not giving up. I am yielding and accepting. My place in this universe is not to survive for much longer. Perhaps my destiny has led me to you, so I may give you a chance_ ," the faerie said. She smiled ruefully. " _I have always been powerful. An outlier. My gift is in life and death, angel. Think about how that may serve you._ "

" _I cannot accept this_ ," Castiel said, shaking his head as she gestured for him to take her hand.

" _I insist. It is one of the greatest gifts my kind can give. To refuse would be rude_ ," the faerie pointed out.

" _You are ensuring your own death. You managed to survive the first arena. Perhaps you can do so again_ ," Castiel argued.

The faerie shook her head. " _No. I will give you my magic, if only so you may survive to tell my tribe that I love them._ "

Helplessly, Castiel shook his head, even as he asked, " _Your name?_ "

The faerie smiled. " _Cora_."  
She reached forward and took his hand.

Blinding light flashed through the cell, lighting the hallway for a moment. Conversations halted, prisoners stared. Something burned white-hot on the angel's skin. Electricity flashed down Castiel's arm. 

Then the light faded, and Castiel's hand cooled. 

The faerie loosed a breath, her skin noticeably paler, her eyes less bright.

And in Castiel's chest, next to the beating thing that kept him connected to the mortal world, a small sliver of power flickered.

Castiel punched a breath out, staring at the faerie with gratitude and awe that could not be worded. She seemed to understand, simply nodding and smiling.

Then she stood, a little unsteadily, and walked over to a corner of her cell. 

Castiel stayed where he was, too shocked to really do much else.

"What was that?" Dean asked from behind him, the first words the demon had spoken to him since the night before.

Castiel couldn't find it in him to lie. To explain. So he simply said, "A gift."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cora is probably my only female OC. That's the last you see of her, too. :)
> 
> Tell me what you thought. If you have any questions, please ask me! I love talking about myself and my fics. Too much, in fact. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya, everyone! :)
> 
> I hope you're all doing okay. If anyone needs to talk, I'm always here to listen!
> 
> I have another chapter for you. It's not as long as I know some of you would like, but they will get longer and fluffier, I promise. For now, enjoy!

**Eleven**

Castiel remained quiet and deep in thought for the next few days. Dean was fine with that. He was too busy wracking his memory banks for any information on the Raven.

He had nothing.

He remembered Michael well enough. The archangel's face would forever be burned into his memory. But Castiel. . .

Dean was almost glad when the guards came for them. It at least gave him a chance to get away from his thoughts, from the heavy air in their cell.

Castiel was still distant and quiet as they walked down the hall, even as the crowd noise built to a thundering roar.

"Castiel!" Dean shouted. "Castiel!"

"What?" the angel asked, frowning at him. The demon opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the guard. 

"Congratulations," the guard said in a monotone, uninterested voice. "You have made it to the second round of fighting. The same rules apply. You must eliminate the other team to advance. You cannot interact with the crowd. . ."

Dean tuned the guard out, eying the contestants that stepped out onto the sand before them.

One was a large, burly demon. He looked about seven feet tall, his large bottom teeth making him look like a boar of some sort. His friend was a nondescript-looking human.

Dean's eyes zeroed in on the human. There was definitely something wrong here. He'd learned over his years of fighting that he could never underestimate anyone. This human had a sort of aura to him that told Dean he wasn't someone to mess with.

Castiel seemed to realize that too. "You can have the human," the angel said, half-jokingly. Dean snorted. At least Castiel was talking now.

"Fine. I can take him," he said.

The bravado was faked. They both knew it.

The guards pushed them out onto the sand.

A different array of weapons were spread on the table. Only close range, Dean noted. No arrows or guns this time.

He picked up a dagger that was more like a sword, watching as Castiel went straight for the angel blade. It was stained with blood, the hilt worn and filthy, but the angel sighed as he hefted it.

Dean would have made a snide remark if he'd been able to hear himself think over the scream of the crowd. 

They stepped forward with their chosen weapons just as the beginning flare fired into the sky.

The demon roared and charged.

The human just smiled, a strange, unsettling smile. He walked forward at a leisurely pace. For some reason, Dean did not want to be there when he arrived.

He focused instead on the demon that was currently charging across the sand at them, bracing himself to deflect.

Castiel surged forward at the same time Dean did, their steps matching, their bodies moving in unison. As one, they blocked the brutal downswing of the demon's sword. Dean held up on the pressure as Castiel ducked under, swiping his angel blade with lightning efficiency.

The demon howled as his blood sprayed. He fell to his knees, holding his guts in with his hands.

Dean swiped his head off with a single stroke.

He looked up at the same time as Castiel.

And realized why the human seemed so dangerous now.

In the back of Dean's mind, a single word registered. _Changeling._

He realized, distantly, that Castiel was ducking to the right to run a side-attack. He realized that the angel knew what was happening, that even though he saw the face of his brother, he didn't balk away.

Dean couldn't say the same.

All he could see was cold blue eyes. Dark hair. And that same smirk, the unsettling cruelty to it, the arrogance. 

_It doesn't change, even when its splattered with my blood._

Michael.

The changeling had become Dean's worst nightmare.

It took a step forward, and Dean realized it was only a few feet away. When had it gotten so close?

Someone was shouting. The deep voice cut through the screaming of the crowd. Dean's name rang in his ear.

Michael laughed. "You were always pathetic," he said over the noise. "So easy to break. So easy to control."

He spread his wings, those horrible white bearers of blood and agony. They shone in the late afternoon light, setting the crowd roaring in excitement. It sounded faraway to Dean's ears.

The six-winged creature stepped toward him, and Dean finally saw what weapon it had chosen. A small dagger, o larger than its hand. Small, quick, and easy to hide. Sneaky. 

Useful for when the victim was already trapped.

Michael raised his hand, the knife in his fist. It glinted, clean and bright in the sun. The tip rested against the rough fabric of Dean's shirt, right above the soft skin of his chest.

Michael grinned knowingly.

The crowd screamed. The sun bore down on the sand.

" _DEAN!_ "

Dean blinked.

Michael's smile changed, became feral and spiteful. Unlike the cold composure the archangel possessed.

The changeling dug in the knife at the same time that Dean swiped upward.

He knocked the dagger from its grasp as the knife slid into his body, effectively stopping the passage to his heart.

Suddenly, a heavy object freight-trained into him. A whirl of wind and feathers soft as silk passed by Dean's face, followed by the sound of the changeling's howl of pain.

Dean found himself kneeling on the sand, Castiel crouched above him in a defensive position, wings spread and dangerous. The changeling lay, beheaded, on the sand before them. Castiel's blade was dripping with blood, still clutched in the angel's white-knuckled grip.

The crowd's noise was deafening, rising ever-louder now that blood had been spilled and the fight had been won. For a moment, the noise rose to devastating levels. It pushed in on Dean's head, threatening to undo the control he had on his mind. He screamed, burying his face in the nearest thing, trying to muffle the noise in Castiel's chest.

The angel wrapped his wings around them both, the black feathers sweeping across the sand in wide arcs. The crowd's noise increased, but the warmth of Castiel's body grounded Dean.

He barely had enough time to catch his breath before he was being ripped away from Castiel's embrace, the guards' metal gauntlets cold against his skin. He could very clearly hear the angel's savage snarl as Dean was taken from him, but he went with them without a fight.

Dean stumbled back to North Gate, Castiel being towed behind him.

The crowd was still screaming, though the noise had died to a barely-tolerable level.

The whole way back, Dean didn't look behind them at where the changeling laid dead on the sand, still wearing Michael's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? I HAD to throw a LITTLE fluff in there SOMEWHERE. There will be more to come, I promise. There will also be longer chapters.
> 
> For now, I'm stuck editing and struggling to get past a bad case of writer's block. I'll figure it out, don't worry. ;)
> 
> I hope you're all doing well. Stay safe and healthy!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Just wanted to remind you that you're all incredible and I love you!
> 
> Not as much fluff in this one as I would have liked, but it is coming, I promise.
> 
> (I know I've been promising that for a while. I'm thinking the next few chapters, alright? Hang in there.)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Twelve**

Castiel stared at Dean contemplatively that night. They'd just finished dinner.

"We need to talk," he finally decided.

"About what?" Dean asked tiredly. The demon looked exhausted. He hadn't said a word since their fight, hadn't even looked in Castiel's direction. The angel had been content to allow him to avoid the topic, but eventually the gravity of what had happened that afternoon grew too great.

Dean had patched himself up, the cut from the changeling thankfully shallow. His movements had been frighteningly robotic as he'd bandaged the bleeding cut, his eyes blank with fear and memories.

"About. . . everything," Castiel said, his voice tight. "About why the changeling was wearing my brother's face. About why you hate angels so much."

"What about _you?_ " Dean shot back, his eyes suddenly bright. "According to everyone else, you're a famous general. They call you the _Raven_. And apparently, you speak Fae and your hands glow in the dark!"

Castiel and Dean glared at each other for a moment, before the angel sighed. If he wanted answers from Dean, he would have to give some answers himself.

"I didn't choose that name, the Raven. Nor did I choose the reputation that would come with it. I was just. . . good at my job," Castiel confessed.

"Good at your job. Of being a famous general. Of which you didn't tell me about," Dean said. He sounded almost betrayed, as if Castiel had been holding back the information purposely.

"You never asked!" Castiel fired back. He didn't know why he felt defensive.

"I was being a good person and letting you have your privacy!" Dean cried, his voice rising to a shout.

"Because you cared _so much_ about me before," Castiel said. His voice sounded foreign to his ears, filled with venom. He could see the effect it had on Dean, the way it made his mental walls rise even higher.

"We were enemies!" the demon snarled.

"We didn't have to be! I _tried_ to be open to you, but you were too busy hating my kind!" Castiel cried.

"You would hate something too, if it captured you and tortured you within an inch of your life!" Dean shouted back.

Silence descended, heavy and tense. Their shouted words seemed to hang in the air. Dean looked ashamed, and Castiel. . . He stared at the demon, eyes wide.

"What do you mean?" the angel finally asked, voice quiet.

Dean sighed, his voice cracked and resigned. "I'm a Knight of Hell. I was injured in a battle, and my brethren didn't think to take me with them when they retreated. I was captured. You fill in the rest."

Castiel felt light-headed, dizzy, as if someone had torn the rug out from underneath him and sent him flailing. When he spoke, his voice was choked. "How long?"

"Five months," Dean said. There was something flat and dead and awful in his eyes. "Five months. Your brother, Michael, was my new best friend. He oversaw everything."

Castiel felt sick.

He remembered what Michael had said, how he'd been excited about a new 'prospect'. Castiel hadn't really cared, too busy training a new batch of recruits to really understand the depth of Michael's implications.

Five _months_. At the hands of his _brother_. . .

"What did he do?" Castiel blurted. He immediately felt stupid. Why would he ask that? What a stupid, _stupid_ thing to say-

"Oh you know," Dean said, surprising Castiel. The demon shrugged. "The usual. Torture, rape, threats."

"He. . . He _raped_ you?" Castiel breathed. He knew that if he hadn't already been on the floor before, after that sentence it wouldn't have mattered. He felt like vomiting.

Dean eyed the angel almost sympathetically. Almost. "You didn't know what an asshole your brother was, did you?" he asked.

There was a brief silence, loaded with tension.

"I'm. . . sorry," Castiel finally said. 'Sorry' was nowhere near what he felt, or what Dean deserved. He wasn't sure _anything_ would ever make up for it, for the wound that had been inflicted on Dean's soul.

"You have no reason to be," Dean said, sounding surprised at his own words. "You couldn't have done anything."

"But I am," Castiel realized. "I could have. . . I could have-"

"You couldn't have done anything," Dean said shortly, words clipped. But there was a soft light of understanding in his eyes. 

"I'm still sorry," Castiel breathed.

"Me too," Dean said quietly. "I never should have killed anyone, let alone those innocent angels. I was. . . I was just doing my job. Mindlessly, I guess." He laughed mirthlessly, the sound dry and broken. "I think I deserved it."

"No," Castiel snarled, suddenly adamant. "I don't know much about you, Dean, but I do know that whatever my brother did to you, you didn't deserve it."

Dean didn't say anything, just looked at him with wide green eyes.

They sat in silence again.

"I hated you at first," Dean said after a while. His voice was really quiet now. Castiel almost had to lean in to hear him. "I don't think I do now. You saved my life."

"You've saved my life more than once," Castiel replied.

Dean smiled at him, and this time, it wasn't all broken edges and cold steel. There was a little warmth in that small smile, a sort of softness Castiel had never seen before.

After a moment, Castiel said, "I don't hate you, either."

Dean laughed. It was a small laugh, but at least it wasn't cold and mirthless.

The silence that stretched wasn't uncomfortable in the least. It was just. . . easy. As if what had needed to be said had been. And now there could be peace.

"Going to be another cold night tonight," Castiel pointed out, nodding at the way Dean was already beginning to shiver. "My offer stands."

Dean snorted and looked away.

But after a moment, he got up and walked over to Castiel. The angel turned, baring his back to the demon. The unexpected vulnerability of the position wasn't lost on the angel, but he found that he didn't mind. And it wasn't just the no-killing rule. He genuinely trusted Dean.

_Well look at that._

Castiel jerked a little in surprise at the brush of fingers along his back, but he settled as Dean started combing through the feathers, searching for stray or loose ones. The angel relaxed even more as Dean's fingertips ran along the feathers lightly, pulling at the ones that were crooked.

What Castiel had said before was true. Wing-grooming was a social thing, something angels did to bond with each other.

He thought hard about his offer before he said it.

"I could. . . I could maybe groom your horns. Is that-ooh, right there!-is that something demons do?" he asked.

Dean was silent for a moment, the only indication he was there being the brush of fingers on the angel's back. After a while, he said in a quiet voice, "I wouldn't know. I was never really allowed to play with other demons."

"Why?" Castiel asked.

Dean pulled on a stray feather, causing Castiel to grunt. "I presented pretty young. My dad wasn't happy."

Castiel wondered at the bitterness, the tang of old pain, in those words. "What about your mother?"

"She's dead."

Castiel didn't reply. He could tell Dean didn't want to talk. 

They didn't speak for the rest of the time it took Dean to clean Castiel's wings. But the angel turned around after the demon was finished and reached out, questioningly.

Dean hesitated for a moment, seeming to fight with two sides of himself. Then he shook his head.

Castiel nodded, backing off. He watched as Dean shuffled a few feet away. He came to a stop with three stones of space between them.

It was really getting cold now, and Castiel extended his wing as quickly as he could. Dean was shivering, hard, but he managed to chatter out a thank you before curling into a ball and going to sleep.

Castiel settled down three stones away from Dean, respecting the obvious boundaries the demon had put up. The angel didn't fall asleep right away, instead thinking of all that had happened that day in the arena.

He had seen Michael on the changeling's face, had been shocked by it. He'd been even more shocked when it had faced Dean, when the demon had gone pale with fear and had frozen solid.

Castiel remembered the utter panic he'd felt, seeing the changeling's knife at Dean's chest. He remembered the helplessness, the frantic sprint he'd broken into, knowing he would be too late.

Thanks were to Castiel's Father that Dean had managed to break free from the changeling's grasp. If he hadn't, Castiel was sure he would be sitting in an empty cell right now.

As it was, the demon was still here. Curled into a tight ball, the warmth of his skin soaking into Castiel's feathers and making the angel shiver with pleasure. Wings weren't just for fighting and show. They were also meant to comfort other angels, to hug and communicate and groom. Wings were made for wrapping around another being, and going for so long without someone to really communicate with on a physical level had opened a pit of loneliness in Castiel's chest. 

_Dean will have to do_ , he thought.

Never mind the little voice in the back of Castiel's mind, which whispered that he wouldn't have had it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd also love to thank Taedyn, Naranjita, Doctor (Pilot), Steelcode, and Why_do_you_want_to_know. They are all incredibly supportive and somehow manage to get rid of all of my doubts about my writing, which is incredible. ;) Love you guys.
> 
> Thank you to all of my other readers too! You're incredible!
> 
> See you soooooon!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya, everyone!
> 
> Soooo. . . Crazy shit. School in my state is closed for the rest of the year. :( I'm actually kind of sad, because I like seeing my friends. One of my best friends is actually moving, and you'd never guess where. . .
> 
> Lawrence, Kansas.
> 
> Anyway, that's all I've got. It's pretty sad, but the fact that I'm pretty much on summer vacation has a silver lining: I get to write more! Yay!
> 
> So I have this chapter for you. Enjoy!

**Thirteen**

_Dean was alone in the darkness again._

_It was cold, always was. And there was no noise, nothing but him and the silence. He could feel it pressing in on him, could hear his erratic, pained breathing, the pop of dislocated bones struggling to move. Dean shut his eyes tightly against the waves of agony inside of him, against the bile he felt rise in his throat._

_He sniffled a little, and horror at what was happening struck him hard._

_He was. . . he was_ crying _._

_At least Michael wasn't here to see it, to mock him for it._

_Dean sniffled a little more, wondering where he'd even gotten the water to cry with. He was so dehydrated, the world spun when he opened his eyes._

_But he was crying, and there was nothing he could really do about it. Especially as the thoughts started flooding in._

_Dean wanted to go home. He wanted to curl up in the backseat of the Impala with Sam, on the rare occasions his younger brother went with him on his hunts and John let him go alone. It always ended with Sammy's unimpressed face as Dean killed the angel they were hunting, but at least he got to spend time with his younger brother._

_Dean wanted to leave all this pain behind, wanted Sam to come bursting into this cold, dark room and shout that he had done it, that he had killed all the bad angels and had come to save Dean._

_Dean wanted to be saved. He knew he wasn't worthy of it, but that didn't stop him from hoping for it. The archangel, Michael, thought Dean's internal conflict was hilarious. How pathetic, the angel said. Dean wished for rescue and thought he wasn't worthy of it at the same time._

_Dean wished for a lot of things he wasn't worthy of. A mate, for one. All submissive demons yearned for a mate that would cherish and protect them, whether that demon wanted to yearn for it or not. Dean was definitely ashamed of his desires, but that didn't stop them from appearing._

_A large metal door slammed open somewhere, and Dean couldn't contain his whimper of fear. Michael had returned. Dean was in for another session of torture, where they would ask the same damn question and he would give the same damn answer._

_What do you know?_

_I don't know anything._

_What do you know?_

_I don't know anything._

_What do you know?_

"I don't know anything."

Dean blinked his eyes open. From the rawness of his throat, he could guess he'd been shouting. Talking, at least. And when he raised his head, he found his cell mate staring at him sadly, blue eyes practically glowing in the dark.

"Sorry I woke you," Dean said gruffly. He would have pulled away from the angel's wing, but the outside air was so cold Dean was afraid he would freeze before five minutes had passed.

"Do not be."

Dean stayed silent, the air awkward and heavy with tension. Dean wanted to pull away from Castiel, to duck out from under his wing and run to the other side of the cell.

He didn't.

"I do not think this is working."

Dean snorted at the angel's deep voice. He glanced over, though he knew he could only see Castiel's outline. "You think?"

"I don't. I believe that our past traumas keep us from becoming friends," Castiel said.

Dean snorted. "You want to be friends?"

"I believe that would aid us in the arena," Castiel replied.

"Alright. So what, you want to ask stupid questions?"

"What kind of stupid questions?"

Dean sighed at the angel's response. He thought hard for a moment, then said, "Well. . . what's your favorite color?"

Castiel was quiet for a moment. Dean groaned internally, thinking about how stupid he was. You didn't just _ask_ an _angel_ what their favorite _color_ was.

Castiel's response surprised Dean. "Green. Forest green, like the color of the sun through summer leaves. What is your favorite color, Dean?"

Dean laughed a little at his detailed response. "My favorite color is blue, Cas. Like, the center of the summer sky kind of blue."

"Beautiful," Castiel said. There was a smile in his voice. It was small, but it was there.

Silence stretched for a moment. Dean snorted softly. "I guess kindergarten questions _do_ work."

Castiel chuckled a little. "I suppose they do. What is your favorite food?"

Dean sighed a little, his breath puffing white in the cold night air. "Pie. There was a Knight troupe leader and she always made the _best_ apple pie. We'd eat it after training some nights. What's yours?"

Castiel chuckled. "Cheeseburgers. My older brother, Gabriel, once took me on a supply run. We came across some and I fell in love. Raphael blames him for getting me addicted to human food."

Dean laughed a little.

It was the most he'd smiled in weeks. Months, if he thought about it. Castiel's rumbling voice was grounding, soothing the lingering fear of the dream Dean had had.

"Do you have any siblings, Dean?" Castiel asked.

Dean grinned a little wider. "Oh yeah. Sammy is my little brother. Younger by four years. He's. . . He's a good kid. Went to Stanford and everything. Smart as hell. Sweet, too. He's a real good person."

Castiel didn't say anything, but Dean knew he was smiling.

"It sounds like you love him very much."

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice wistful. "The kid means everything to me. He was the only one of us who ever really had a chance at the future, you know?"

"You have a future too, Dean," Castiel said.

Dean frowned a little. "No," he said. "I was compromised a while ago. But Sammy can do it. I know he can."

He made sure his voice left no room for argument. Castiel, for his part, didn't try. He just sighed a little and tucked his wing tighter around Dean's body.

It was clear the conversation was finished. Castiel fell asleep soon, his breath becoming slower and deeper, his wing relaxing around Dean.

Long after his partner fell asleep, Dean's mind was still running.

_You have a future too, Dean._

Did he really mean that?

_He doesn't know what he's saying. Castiel doesn't know me. He has no idea._

_He doesn't know how broken and useless I am. My own torturers didn't think I was worth anything._

_Besides, outside of this arena, Sam is the only reason I live. And in it. . ._

_Why_ do _I fight to survive?_

Dean frowned a little, thinking long into the night. He knew there was an answer, a name, tickling at the back of his mind. Because the truth was, Sam wouldn't know if he suddenly died in this arena. No. The only person who would know immediately and _care_ was-

_No, don't think of that. I can't get too attached, it's_ dangerous.

_But maybe. . . Maybe it's even more of a risk to_ not _get attached._

That was the thought that kept Dean from sleep in the long hours of the night, contemplating his relationship with the angel beside him. When dawn came and the sun lightened the air around them, the demon was still awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one was so short. The next one is SUPER long, though, and then after that we'll have fluff. Yay!
> 
> Tell me what things are like with you guys, is school closed? Jobs? I hope everyone is doing okay. Stay safe and healthy! :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone!
> 
> I have a longer chapter for you! I spent all yesterday working on a new garden, and now I'm ready to go back to doing nothing but writing and sleeping all day. XD
> 
> Enjoy!

**Fourteen**

Their next fight came far faster than Castiel anticipated. With less fighters, the fights cycled through faster. Of course, as the weaker fighters were weeded out, the fights grew longer as the prisoners were more evenly matched. Castiel remembered the day they had only one fight, the duos of the day fighting for hours on the burning sand.

Meals became better, First Aid Kits stocked with more supplies. They were given two slices of bread each now, the cheese less moldy, the meat slices thicker. Castiel figured they were really juicing the competition now, trying to get better fights by having stronger prisoners.

Even though they were being fed better, the guards were still quick to punish. Castiel had a hand-shaped bruise on his cheek from when he'd tripped on the way to training in the morning and stumbled into a guard in front of him. The snarl of anger Dean had emitted when that had happened had been enough to earn him a slap of his own.

The training days were getting more and more tense, everyone watching everyone else. Castiel and Dean trained together now, holding back on their skills until fight day came. They fought as a single unit, somehow knowing what the other was doing and matching it with lethal efficiency.

Dean had told Castiel about what the witch had said, about how they were a well-watched duo. Apparently a Knight of Hell and an angel general were scarce in the ranks of the prisoners, their fighting skills thought to be unmatched. As it was, that made them unpopular to say the least.

The next round showed a week or so after the one with the changeling. Castiel's friend, Cora, died in her sleep the day before. The guards tossed her body on the same cart they used to deliver breakfast as they passed.

The nights and days were getting colder. There was almost no night that didn't find Castiel and Dean huddled under the angel's wings, their teeth chattering and their bodies wracked with shivers. Those who weren't lucky enough to have angel wings or fur at their disposal didn't last long. There was rarely a night where one prisoner or another didn't die or get sick during the dark hours.

The day Castiel and Dean had to fight again was unusually cold. Wind blew from the snowy mountain peaks, rain falling in frigid sleet against their faces.

Castiel shivered as he stepped out from North Gate, squinting against the wild weather at the creature they were supposed to be fighting to the death.

A hellhound again. She was alone, her face twisted with hatred. Everyone in the cells knew her. She was from the East Gate, and she and her brother had been paired together. A demon had torn her brother's head straight off his shoulders before the hellhound had been able to kill him. Her name was Nemesis.

"Think she's gonna have a special place in her heart for me?" Dean asked over the roar of the crowd.

Castiel grimaced at him.

With the bad lighting, the way the sky was dark with rain already, and the pounding sleet, it was nearly impossible for them to see her. Her outline was the only real thing that was visible, making fighting her a problem.

The other problem, Castiel spotted when he looked to their right. Normally, a large wooden table would be standing there, a variety of weapons laid out on its surface.

There was no table.

"Well, looks like hand-to-hand today!" Dean shouted over the roar of the crowd. Castiel nodded his agreement. That fact was a major problem when they were fighting an opponent with claws.

They both turned back to the arena just in time to see the red flare fire into the air. The crowd's noise swelled with its excitement as the hellhound bounded forward, her snarl of rage audible even here.

Castiel blinked against the pounding sleet.

"Let's split up!" he called to Dean. "She can only go after one of us!"

It was, in hindsight, one of the worst ideas he'd ever had.

Dean split away from Castiel. They both stalked to different sides of the arena, eyes squinted against the wind and sleet. Castiel blinked once and lost track of the hellhound, her form near-invisible in the bad lighting and terrible weather.

Dean seemed to have lost her too. He blinked over at Castiel once, his confusion evident on his face.

Later, Castiel would thank his Father that the hellhound was too blinded by rage to think her attack through. If she'd slowed down a little and been a little smarter, she would have crept up behind Dean and slit his throat.

As it was, she was thoughtless and brash, fueled by rage and grief from her brother's passing. She slammed right into Dean's chest, her outline just barely visible in the rain. 

"Dean! No!"

Castiel's panicked yell cut through the scream of the crowd. The angel rushed forward, wings opening on instinct and catching a gust of wind. It propelled him forward, his body slamming into the hellhound's and knocking her off before she could clamp her jaws around Dean's throat.

Castiel barely noticed the clicking of a thousand crossbows as the guards stationed around the arena took aim at him. They were making sure he couldn't escape using his wings. If Castiel made a wrong move, he'd be shot dead before he even knew what was happening.

The hellhound snarled with rage and lashed out, her claws catching the tip of Castiel's right wing. The angel roared in anger and pain, his wings battering the creature's body with a gale-force wind.

The hellhound leaped away, the only evidence of her passing in the rush of displaced air and the thick imprints her paws left in the sand.

"You okay?" a voice shouted from Castiel's left.

Castiel turned and found Dean crouching where he had fallen, a few cuts marring his face. He looked fine, physically, if a bit shaken up. The angel nodded to the demon's question and turned, narrowing his eyes at the seemingly-empty arena.

The crowd was still screaming. Castiel looked around, trying to spot paw-prints and finding none. Where was the stupid hound?

A rush of displaced air near Castiel's cheek had him flaring his wings out, but not fast enough.

Some invisible force grabbed Dean by his beautiful, graceful horns, flinging the demon to the side by his head. Dean yelped as he crashed into the metal wall of the arena, landing on the sand with an audible thump.

Castiel jerked into action, sprinting at his partner.

The near-invisible hellhound snarled at him and leaped away, running back to the arena. Dean groaned where he lay on the sand, his eyes blinking rapidly.

"Are you alright?" Castiel demanded over the scream of the crowd.

Dean didn't say anything for a moment, too busy rubbing at his face and blinking rapidly. Castiel glanced behind him, eyes searching out the invisible hound.

"I have an idea!"

Castiel turned. Dean was eying the empty arena, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. He looked smaller than normal, with his spiky hair plastered to his forehead and his prisoner's uniform draped across his too-skinny form.

"What?" Castiel asked, his voice barely audible over the crowd's noise.

"She's after me!" Dean said. His tail rose in the air behind him in suggestion. Castiel eyed the tip. It was about as sharp as a fire poker.

"She'll kill you."

"She's angry. She'll make a mistake at some point," Dean shouted over the crowd noise.

"I don't want to take that chance," Castiel shouted back.

Dean grinned at him, that old shit-eating grin he'd worn when he'd first met Castiel and hated him. "Too late, angel."

He shoved Castiel in the chest and ran out into the middle of the arena. Castiel grunted as he righted himself, wet sand sticking to his back, to his wings. The sleet was weighing them down, making every feather heavy with water. 

Castiel shouted at Dean, his voice torn away from him by the wind and the scream of the crowd. The demon was standing in the middle of the arena, his tail flicking this way and that in the wind.

"Dean, _no!_ "

Castiel didn't understand it, the sudden wild panic. He felt. . . scared. He felt like he was wildly out of control, like he was spinning underneath a tidal wave, trying to get to the surface and only managing to drag himself deeper.

The angel caught the faint flicker of motion a split second before she hit. It was in the way the sleet was slightly displaced, where it didn't fall right to the sand.

_Nemesis._

" _DEAN!_ " Castiel screamed.

Dean didn't hear him. He was too busy looking for the hellhound, with knowing that she was currently pounding her way toward him, Castiel's words lost in the wind and the roar of the crowd.

It only got louder as they spotted her too.

Dean turned just in time, the blow that was meant for his heart catching across his back instead. Claws ripped, skin tore, bone was grazed. Castiel _screamed._

The panic that flooded him was like nothing he'd ever felt before. He felt like vomiting, like wailing, like collapsing where he stood. He did none of that.

Instead, he _ran._

Dean fell to his knees on the wet sand, blood spewing from the gashes across his back. He raised his head, glaring at Nemesis. Castiel could barely hear her mocking snarl as he sprinted closer, his wings tucked tight to his body to reduce drag from the wind.

Dean bowed his head.

Castiel poured on the speed. 

Nemesis leaped.

In that moment, the hellhound's form was clearly visible. Lean limbs corded with muscle flew through the air, intent on tearing Dean's head from his shoulders.

Castiel got there just in time.

His wings battered the air around them with such force, it drowned out the roar of the crowd and the raging of the wind. Nemesis howled and fell back, something animalistic in her voice.

Blood dripped to the sand. Dean's tail was soaked in it, his green eyes staring at where the tip had penetrated Nemesis's chest just before her claws had reached his throat.

The hellhound twitched in pain, the hole in her heart not enough to kill her just yet.

Castiel finished the job, twisting her neck with brutal efficiency. The crowd roared its approval as the crack sounded, barely audible over the scream of the wind.

Castiel fell to his knees and wrapped his wings around his demon, not caring who was watching, what was between them. He buried his face in Dean's neck as the demon hid in Castiel's embrace, tucking his head to the angel's chest much like he had after their fight with the changeling.

Dean was shaking, sobbing, and Castiel didn't care. He closed his eyes and held him tight to his own body, wings shielding them from the pounding sleet.

"She just w-wanted to protect her brother," Dean sobbed. "He died. She was angry because he died. She was j-just trying to protect him."

Castiel couldn't really make sense of what he was saying, but he shushed the demon all the same, trying to get him to calm down before the guards dragged them off the sand. They were already trudging out from North Gate, leaning into the wind as it threatened to take them off their feet.

Dean's blood was soaking Castiel's prison uniform, drenching the sand beneath them. No small amount of panic ran through Castiel at that knowledge, at the way Dean's life force pumped out between his fingers.

The guards came and tore Castiel away from Dean again. The demon was still crying, still babbling about Nemesis and her brother. Castiel roared at the guard next to him, something primal and protective surging in his chest.

"Calm down, you fucking angel!" one of the guards roared, smacking Castiel with his metal baton. When the angel refused to back down, struggling to get to Dean, the guard said, "I'll fucking beat your friend! You want me to beat your friend?"

He raised the baton threateningly, his voice rough and strained over the scream of the crowd.

Castiel calmed a little, allowing them to drag him to the North Gate. He wouldn't get Dean hurt. Not again.

So he allowed them to drag him across the sand. He let them chain his hands behind him. He let them shove him and curse at him. Because Dean's wellbeing was more important than his own pride.

Castiel followed his partner's trail of blood out of the arena and into the darkness of North Gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? I named Nemesis after the Greek/Roman goddess of revenge.
> 
> Also, the fluff I promised is coming! Next few chapters, people! Woohoo! 
> 
> Stay safe, I love all of you. ;)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Happy Easter, if you celebrate it! If you don't, Happy Sunday!
> 
> This chapter is sort of short, but I promise the next few are longer. This one has an insight into Dean's past as well. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Fifteen**

The pain barely registered. They threw Dean into his cell roughly. He knew he was bleeding, knew the dry set of clothes they'd handed him would do nothing against the blood pouring out of his back.

It was because of Nemesis.

Dimly, Dean realized he might die if he didn't do anything. He might bleed out on this filthy stone floor, never see Sammy again.

_I deserve it. I killed her. She had a brother, a Sammy, too._

Dean closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to the cold stone of the cell. He was soaking wet and freezing, knew he was in a bad way and wouldn't survive much longer if he kept at this, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

_I will kill you, demon,_ Nemesis had said. _Your kind are the reason he's dead. He need not have suffered. And yet here you are._

Dean knew, distantly, that it wasn't fair for her to have blamed him. But he knew, he could understand, could _feel_ her rage. He knew how it felt, how pure and unbridled that agony was. How it twisted at the inner chest, ate away at the insides, tore through the heart, rendered it unable to feel anything but pure rage.

He had felt it before. Had done terrible, horrible things.

All to protect Sammy.

_It was a bad night. John was drunk off his ass, kicking Dean around the shitty motel room just because he could._

_Dean was fine with it. When John finally calmed down and sobered up, he would feel bad, would pull Dean close to him and cry, beg his dead wife to forgive him for nearly killing their oldest son. Though Mary never said anything, Dean always forgave John for her. It was easier than hating his father, anyway. The affection, no matter how fleeting, felt good too._

_But today was all wrong. Sam came back from the library early, muttering about them closing it for repairs. When he walked in on his father beating the shit out of his older brother, he went off._

_Dean remembered the anger in Sam's eyes, remembered wondering why his brother was so worked up. John was just letting off a little steam. Dean's wellbeing wasn't as important as their father's happiness._

_Sam had opened the door. Everything had frozen._

_John stared up at Sam, eyes wide with shock. Dean had looked up, spitting blood on the floor. Sam had stared at John with unbridled horror and disgust on his face._

_"Motherfucker," he breathed, his voice quiet and dangerous._

_Dean got to his feet as fast as he could, forcing back any noises of pain that tried to emerge from his throat. His body was stiff and screaming with agony._

_"Sam, wait. Don't-"_

_Sam stepped forward, shoving Dean behind him in a protective, aggressive gesture._

_"You fucking bastard," Sam growled, eyes on John. The oldest Winchester was frowning, his face slowly getting stormier and stormier._

_Sensing a fight brewing, Dean tried to get in between them both._

_"Sam, please. Dad, calm down. Sam, listen. Sam," Dean pleaded._

_Sam looked at him, betrayal and sadness in his eyes. "You said the bruises were from training, De," he said quietly._

_Dean winced. "Sam, please-"_

_"No. You motherfucker, you fucking bastard! You hurt him!" Sam shouted, turning from Dean to their father. Dean winced at his volume.  
_

_"And?" John asked, his voice quiet in comparison. Dangerous._

_"He's your son."_

_"Exactly. I can do what I fucking like with him!" John shouted._

_"You sick fuck! He's your_ son! _" Sam cried. "You can't beat him!"_

_"I most certainly can, you little brat! Your precious human friends have different rules than we do," John growled. "I can do whatever the fuck I want with him. Besides, he likes it, don't you, Dean?"_

_Dean winced and ignored his father. "Sam, please listen-"_

_"No! He can't hurt you, Dean! That's sick!" Sam shouted._

_"He_ likes _it, you dumbass. Your brother is a fucking whore!" John roared. "I'm preparing him, Sam. His fucking mate is going to do whatever they like with him, anyway."_

_"I don't-" Dean started._

_It was too late. Sam had turned bright red, his chest puffing. He was large, had grown even bigger than their father. He towered over Dean and John._

_"You fucker. Demon mates protect each other, take care of each other. You wouldn't know, of course," Sam snarled._

_Dean flinched. Mentioning Mary, who had died fourteen years before, was a low blow._

_John's face got red. He started forward, and Dean would recognize that heavy gait, those clenched fists, anywhere._

_The older brother stepped forward and shoved John back. The old demon stared at him, shocked. It was the first time Dean had fought back in a long time._

_"You can beat me however much you want," Dean said quietly. "But if you hurt Sammy, there will be hell to pay."_

_John snarled, straightening. "You boys think you can just do anything, don't you? You've forgotten who runs this damn house! I_ own _you, Dean. And Sam, you stupid fuck, you're my son too, dominant demon or not! I'll do what I like with you two!"_

_He stepped forward threateningly again, and Sam took a step back. Dean realized, in that moment, that his little brother was scared. His shouting had been bravado. He was shocked. He had come in and seen everything he had ever known fall apart. Dean had never told him about the abuse, had always blamed the broken bones and bruises on Knight training._

_The knowledge that Sam was scared made Dean_ mad. _He stepped forward and met John Winchester in the middle._

_It only took a few seconds. Training with the Knights may not have been as brutal as with his father, but it had made Dean strong and fast._

_Dean ducked under the punch, reached out, and twisted John's head sideways._

_There was a sickening crack. Dean watched, lost in rage, as the life left his father's eyes, as his lifeless body hit the floor._

_"No one hurts Sammy," he hissed._

_He had turned and taken Sam by the arm, dragging him out of the house. They hadn't looked back once._

Dean opened his eyes. His forehead was still pressed against the cold stone. Only a few seconds must have passed, because the cell door was clanging shut behind him.

Someone knelt on the ground beside him.

Hands, warm and gentle, pulled at his shoulders, urging him to move. Dean didn't want to, the pain suddenly sharp and fierce.

"No, no, no. . . ," he gritted out, sobbing through clenched teeth. The hands tugged gently again, and this time, Dean obliged.

He choked on his own breath as he straightened, his back a pool of fiery agony. He felt sick, felt like vomiting. He couldn't breathe, could feel his chest rising and falling in sporadic, panicked movements.

Someone was speaking. Soft, gentle words were brushing past his ear, soothing his panic, settling his breathing. "Shh, you're alright. Please, Dean, calm down. It's okay, I'm here. I'll take care of you. Shh. . . "

Dean sucked in an unsteady breath.

Fiery agony shot through him and he whimpered in pain. He didn't even care how pathetic he sounded. He hadn't felt this much pain since he'd been locked in that damned angel's basement.

"Lay down, Dean. Please, just lay down. I can make it feel better," the person was whispering.

Dean let the hands guide him to a more comfortable position, his stomach pressed against the cold stone floor, his back up. There was a plastic click, the sound of a box opening. Something shuffled, and Dean breathed a soft moan of pain as the person started to spread some sort of cold cream along his wounds.

The person- _Castiel_ , Dean realized-was gentle. They shushed his small sounds of pain, apologized when the agony spiked to unbearable heights.

Castiel worked on Dean's back for a while, murmuring soft praises and encouragements. Dean didn't even care that he was crying openly, that he was at his most vulnerable for Castiel. The angel didn't seem to care either, focusing his whole being on tending the wounds of Dean's back.

Eventually, Dean's body grew too exhausted to function for much longer. He stopped crying, his breathing hitching only when Castiel touched an especially painful spot on his back.

"She only wanted to protect her brother," Dean said quietly.

"I know, Dean. And now she's with him," Castiel replied gently.

Dean closed his eyes, nodding. He was exhausted. He wasn't sure if he'd wake up, if he even cared to do so.

He relaxed a little under Castiel's gentle fingers, under the tender care the angel was giving him. Slowly, the pain melted to nothing, giving way to blessed numbness.

With a soft sigh of exhaustion, the demon fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think?
> 
> Poor Dean. :( Cas will make it better.
> 
> See you all soon!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty.
> 
> This one is short and sweet. I think you'll like it. Just some fluff with the boys. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Sixteen**

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief when Dean finally passed out. He knew the demon was in a lot of pain, and he hated being the one causing tears to fall from his beautiful green eyes.

When Castiel had finally managed to staunch the flow of blood and bandage Dean's wounds, his shirt was soaked in blood. Dean's was too, and Castiel realized they probably weren't reusable. He changed them both into the set of dry clothes they'd been given and tended to the scratch on his own wing.

Castiel took the food off the dinner plate and hid Dean's half in the First Aid Kit, which they were allowed to keep until their injuries were healed or it ran out. He couldn't do much for the water though, and he tried to convince the unconscious demon to drink as much of it as he could.

By that time, it was getting dark and the sleet outside was turning into snow. Castiel tucked his wing around his injured partner and himself, shivering at the cold.

Castiel suddenly felt Dean's tail wrap around his torso. He looked down, at where the demon was still sleeping.

For some reason, the situation struck Castiel as adorable, something he never would have associated with the demon next to him. Dean's tail tugged at the angel, as if the demon were asking him in his sleep to cuddle closer. 

The angel obliged, cautiously inching closer until his body was pressed against Dean's. The demon's body was warm with sleep, softer and more comfortable than Castiel had expected. The demon's tail was still wrapped protectively around Castiel's torso, affectionate, at least, in sleep.

Castiel knew when the demon woke, there would be hell to pay. Dean probably wouldn't be too excited about their new position, though he seemed to want it in his subconscious. Castiel was fine with that. He would take what he could get.

At least it was warm, tucked up against the demon's body. With Castiel's wings over them both, it made their sleeping position extra comfortable. 

_Like a cocoon_ , Castiel thought. _Or a nest._

He smiled at that thought and tucked Dean closer, his wing curling tighter around the injured demon. In response, Dean's tail curled tighter around Castiel's torso.

The angel closed his eyes, warm and comfortable for the first time in a long time, and fell asleep.

When Castiel woke up, Dean was still asleep. The angel frowned at the heat of the demon's body, the pink flush on his golden skin.

He changed Dean's bandages, adding another layer of antibiotic cream. He was worried about Dean getting an infection, a possibility that was all too real in this prison.

"What time is it?" Castiel asked the witch in the cell across from them. 

"Almost evening. You and the Knight have been sleeping for a long time," the witch replied. She sounded sympathetic.

"Almost evening? What about the people? The crowds?" Castiel asked, confused. Usually, the screaming and shouting was in full force at this time of day.

"Of course, I'd forgotten you haven't heard," the witch said. "There was a massive snowstorm last night. It covered the arena, almost filled up the gateways. Until they shovel it, there's no way for fighting to continue."

Castiel stared at her, relief filling him. "Really? You're not joking?"

"Wouldn't joke about something like that, feathers. How's your friend doing?"

Suddenly remembering that everyone was enemies with them and couldn't be trusted, Castiel replied, "He's fine. Worn out."

"I would imagine," the witch said, sounding as if she didn't buy a word Castiel had said.

He turned his attention back to Dean, his brows furrowing in worry. The demon was warm, a little _too_ warm, and Castiel worried that he had an infection. If that were the case, he wasn't sure how he could combat it. Worse, it seemed to be getting colder.

Castiel decided it was time for Dean to eat. He shook the demon a little, trying to rouse him in the gentlest way possible. "Dean? Dean, wake up. Come on, wake up."

He shook Dean a little more. The demon moaned in pain.

"Dean, come on. Please, wake up," Castiel said quietly, shaking Dean a little more.

"'M not 'wake. G'way, Cas. . . ," Dean moaned.

Castiel laughed a little, relieved that Dean seemed a bit more coherent than before. "Come on, Dean. You need to eat."

"Don' wanna," Dean complained. He still had his eyes shut. "Hurts."

"I know," Castiel said gently. "Please, Dean, wake up."

The demon moaned something incoherent and slowly peeled his eyes open, blinking blearily up at Castiel. The angel smiled as kindly as he could and pushed the bread, cheese, and meat at the demon's face, practically shoving it down his throat. 

Dean turned his head away, wincing at even that small movement.

"Dean, please. You have to. Your body needs it," Castiel urged.

Dean shook his head slightly, wincing at the pain the action caused him again. "I can't, Cas. I don't think I'll be able to keep it down," he said quietly. 

Castiel sighed, breaking the bread into smaller pieces, the meat attached. "Just try."

Dean grimaced, but he humored Castiel. He opened his mouth and accepted the piece of bread, wincing as he chewed. "Help me sit up."

"Dean, that's not a good id-"

"Help me sit up."

Castiel sighed and helped Dean get to a sitting position, the demon wincing and groaning at the pain in his back. "Fuck, that really hurts."

"You asked me to help you sit up," Castiel pointed out.

His tone was scolding, but his hands were gentle as the steadied Dean. The demon was breathing hard, his face pale, as if the pain and exertion from that single move was enough to make him want to vomit. Castiel hoped he didn't pass out again.

After a while, the color returned to Dean's face and the demon wasn't leaning so heavily on Castiel.

Dean pulled away slightly. He insisted on feeding himself, eyes flicking around the almost-empty hallway. Most of their fellow prisoners had died in the previous rounds, the hall silent like a ghost town. It was only them, the single witch across from them, a couple of vamps a few cells away, and a large demon Castiel only caught glimpses of farther down the hall. According to talk during training, West Gate was completely deserted. East Gate had retained the most fighters, though not by much. There were only really thirty or so duos left.

"Where's the crowd?" Dean finally asked.

"We got snowed in. No fighting for a few days," Castiel replied.

Dean didn't bother to hide the relief on his face. He finished about half of the food before his eyelids started sliding shut of their own accord. Castiel helped him lay down again, covering the demon with his wing almost on instinct.

He frowned a little again, feeling the heat rising off the demon's body. Dean was pale, his cheeks flushed with high fever. The angel glared at the grace-suppressor on his wrist, wishing not for the first time that he could rip it off. Except this time, he wanted to heal Dean instead of kill him with it.

Sighing, Castiel laid down next to the demon, as if his own thoughts could take away from Dean's pain.

Dean passed out soon after, his breathing steadying. His face was flushed with what Castiel thought was surely a fever, but the angel tried not to think about it. He hoped that when he woke Dean would be okay again.

Closing his eyes, the angel fell asleep next to his injured partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think?
> 
> The next chapter will be longer, I promise. I hope you enjoyed this one. Also, you people are amazing.
> 
> Naranjita, the second I figure out how to put images into fics, I will. Your art is incredible. Until then, does anyone else know how to put images into fics? Google isn't helping, and I'm also a Grade-A dumbass when it comes to technology. Any help would be greatly appreciated!
> 
> See you soon!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya, everyone! I hope you're all doing well!
> 
> I think you'll really like this chapter. It has some mentions of past Benny/Dean, which I hope is okay. I didn't tag it because it's so brief.
> 
> Unfortunately, this is the only Sam Winchester you're going to get. Sorry. :( Maybe in another fic. I'm trying to read up on Sam-centric fics and watching the show again so I can get a sense of his character.
> 
> Anyway, I'll stop babbling. Enjoy!

**Seventeen**

Memories came and went.

_Dean was fifteen years old, smiling down at his younger brother. Sam was eleven, laughing as fireworks lit up the sky._

_They'd snuck out. Dean knew he would have a beating waiting for him at home, but he also knew it was worth it to see Sam's face light up. They snuck out every year on the Fourth of July. Though it was a human holiday, Sam loved the fireworks, and Dean wasn't one to deny his brother anything._

_Sam's face was stained red and blue and green, his hazel eyes lighting up with glee. Dean laughed as his younger brother grinned up at the dark sky, the colors flashing across it accompanied by loud explosions._

_"This is amazing!" Sam shouted._

_"Happy Fourth of July, Sammy," Dean said, grinning._

_"Happy Fourth of July, De!"_

Dean groaned a little, his brows furrowed. His back was a throbbing line of heat and fire, of pain and misery. What the hell had he done this time?

_John's words were like a waterfall, if the crystal clear water was replaced by poison. He spewed hatred and disgust, anger and rage. Dean had long since given up trying to please his father and had started crying openly, his blood soaking the carpet beneath his rubbed-raw knees. He begged his father for forgiveness, for mercy._

_John didn't listen, too lost in his drunken haze._

_The belt came down, again and again, and Dean was powerless to stop it. Even if he'd wanted to, even if there were no painful consequences, he couldn't have stood and ripped the belt from his father's grasp. John had beaten him too hard for too long, and Dean was on the verge of unconsciousness._

_So he didn't try to fight. He just closed his eyes and submitted._

Dean woke again, whining softly at the pain in his back. For a moment, he felt delirious with heat and fire. His whole body felt like it was submerged in lava, his skin burning hot. Something shifted off to his left and a soft, silky smooth something brushed past his face. Cool air fluttered past, but it was not enough.

Dean moaned a little as the soft thing, something that felt distinctly feathery, brushed past his face again. If he could just get some water. . . all he needed was water. . .

_The summer afternoon was hot and dry. Dean had been at it for hours, running around the track and stopping to do push-ups and sit-ups at regular intervals. He pushed himself to exhaustion, until his vision was swaying black and white and he was listing where he stood. It wasn't enough, he knew. It would never be._

_His Knight commander told him he was the best in the training squadron, but that wasn't enough for John Winchester. Though the man would die eight days later, at the present Dean saw only an endless stretch of disappointment and beatings ahead, John's pride in him a distant and unreachable horizon._

_The demon was standing at the edge of the track now, glaring at his son with reproach on his face._

_"That mile was eight seconds slower than the one before," he growled as Dean neared, sweaty and near-collapse. "Don't you want this? Aren't you trying? You're supposed to be getting faster. Your effort is fucking pathetic."_

_"Sorry, sir," Dean said quietly, trying to catch his breath._

_"Go run three more. Make them faster than five minutes, or I'll kick your ass," John growled._

_"Yes, sir."_

_Dean took off running again, knowing that John would do far worse than kick him._

_The sun was hot, the temperature in the triple digits, and Dean hadn't been allowed to eat breakfast or take a break since dawn. He'd had a sip of water, but that was only one and it had been hours ago. He felt shaky, weak, and he knew he wouldn't be able to finish this damned lap._

_It came as no surprise when he found himself staring up at his father moments later, the demon's face red with anger as he shouted down at his son. The track was hot against his back, and his head throbbed where it had hit the ground when he'd fallen._

_Dean passed out again, and when he woke later, he was in that dark closet. John didn't let him out for two days._

"Dean? Dean, open your eyes."

Dean frowned. He recognized that voice, but he couldn't place it. It was deep and gravelly, and it seemed somehow familiar. He blinked his eyes open, his vision fuzzy and washed over with the bright sheen of fever.

Shockingly bright blue eyes peered into his own. "Dean? Are you alright?"

". . . Cas?" Dean slurred. He grinned drunkenly. "Heeeeyy, angel."

The angel frowned. "You have a fever."

"Maaayybeee," Dean hedged, his voice thick. The angel sighed and glanced around helplessly.

"I don't have any more water to give you. I'm sorry. Please, Dean, try to. . ."

The rest of what the angel was saying melted away as Dean fell back into unconsciousness.

_Dean had two personalities. If the worlds they lived in ever met, there would be hell to pay._

_His first personality was the Dean he was at home, the submissive, obedient son. He allowed John to beat him to a bloody pulp, call him vile names, and lock him in a dark closet. He allowed John to starve him, to humiliate him, to sell him off to his friends for a night or two._

_But at least Sam was safe._

_The second Dean arrived at school, however, he was bullied for being 'stupid' and a jerk. He was stupid because he was too preoccupied at home to really study and get good grades. He was a jerk because he fought._

_Dean found, the first day of school, that he was a really good fighter. He fought anyone, whether they were on the wrestling team or twenty pounds heavier or six inches taller or four years older. If they said a bad word about him or Sam, he would fight them. If they bullied Sam, he would fight them. If they threatened Sam, he would fight them._

_He got into trouble, was disliked by his teachers, hated by his peers. He didn't win, not every time. Sometimes he was left on the hot pavement with his head bleeding and his body aching._

_But at least Sam was safe._

_That was all that mattered. Dean fought all his life, working to keep Sam safe and protected. When his brother got accepted on a full-ride to Stanford, Dean was almost more proud than Sam was. If he were asked, it was the one thing he'd accomplished in life._

_Then his little brother had left, and Dean was alone._

_But at least Sam was safe._

_That didn't mean Dean's life got any better, though._

_It was worse when he figured out he liked males instead of females. Coupled with the fact that he was a submissive instead of dominant demon. . . His father couldn't decide which was worse._

_Still, Dean found solace in a single dominant before John found out. The beating he gave Dean the night he found out his son had been sleeping with another creature had nearly killed him. Dean hadn't been able to walk for days._

_Dean still remembered that man. His name had been Benny. He was a vampire, and he was one of the only people in Dean's life to ever take care of him. He awoke cravings inside of Dean, for comfort and touch and affection, that the demon hadn't even known he'd had._

_When Dean had broken things off with him, the vampire had merely nodded sadly, as if seeing straight through Dean's ruse._

_The demon never saw him again._

_Two years after Sam left for Stanford, he was home for the summer when he walked in on John beating Dean. After John had threatened a shocked, angry Sam, Dean had broken his father's neck._

_It was seen as self-defense and he was still allowed to stay in the Knights of Hell. He'd half-heartedly worked for them, up until he'd been captured the past year._

_And now. . . now. . ._

Dean opened his eyes with a groan. There was something being pressed to his lips, something cold and wet.

Dean drank greedily, his parched mouth sucking down the water. It was cooled by the frigid air and frozen stones, and it felt amazing.

The water was taken away from his mouth for a moment, the bag placed on his forehead. Dean moaned obscenely at the cool temperature of the bag on his burning skin.

The person holding the bag chuckled.

Too soon, the water warmed and Dean was forced to drink some more. By this time, he was too exhausted to do much more than swallow.

A deep, rumbling voice said something, but Dean was too far gone to really understand what it had said.

With a soft sigh, he fell back into oblivion.

_The worst part of the torture, Dean decided, was when he was crammed in the dark box. Michael had figured out pretty fast that Dean hated being in small, cold, dark spaces. He'd taken to locking Dean in the box every time the demon refused to tell him anything._

_He sometimes kicked the box, shouting at where Dean was trapped inside._

_"What do you know, you stupid demon? You can't be so useless that they don't tell you anything! What do you know?"_

_Dean's response, choked and panicked, was always the same._

_"I don't know anything! Please, I don't know anything! Please, please, no more. . ."_

_Michael never relented._

"I don't know anything. . . please, _please_ -"

"Shh, you're alright. Michael can't get you here."

Dean stopped pleading, realizing that the voice that responded to him wasn't Michael's.

For some reason, Dean associated safety and warmth with the voice. He blindly turned his head toward it, seeking protection from the memories that shoved in and destroyed his mind.

A warm hand, calloused and rough, caressed his cheek gently. Dean leaned into the touch, starving for it.

The person shushed him again and continued stroking his cheek soothingly.

Dean fell back asleep.

_The last memory that flew through Dean's head was of when he was younger. Far younger than the others._

_He must have been around twelve, an eight year-old Sam leaning against him._

_"Dean, I don't wanna go to sleep," Sam whined._

_Dean was exhausted. He'd been struggling to stretch the last bits of their money to get him and Sam food, and the walk to and from the grocery store was tiring for a twelve year-old. He looked down at Sam, briefly wishing his father was here. John, at least, scared Sam into going to sleep immediately._

_"Why not, Sammy? It's past your bedtime," Dean said gently, keeping his patience._

_"The monsters will come," Sam sniffled, blinking up at him with puppy-dog eyes._

_Dean sighed, taking Sam by the hand and leading him to the bed. "No, they won't. Your. . . Your. . . " He stopped, at a loss for words. A thought struck him and he smiled to himself. "Your guardian angel will make sure you're safe."_

_"Guardian angel?" Sam asked, interested._

_"Oh, yeah," Dean said, nodding knowingly. He helped Sam into bed and began to tuck him in. "There are angels watching over all of us."_

_"Even Daddy?" Sam asked._

_Dean swallowed his wince. "Of course."_

_Sam beamed at him. "What does my guardian angel look like?"_

_Dean narrowed his eyes, thinking for a moment. "Well. . . he's got long brown hair like yours."_

_"Really?"_

_"Yep. And, uh, golden eyes," Dean said._

_"What's his name?" Sam asked._

_"Gabriel," Dean said, the name randomly popping into his head._

_Sam beamed at him. "What's your guardian angel's name, De?"_

_Dean sighed and kissed him on the forehead. "I know what you're doing, Sammy. Go to sleep."_

_Sam pouted for a moment before his face morphed into a smile. "Will Gabriel watch over me?"_

_Dean nodded, feeling choked for some reason. "Of course. Now go to sleep."_

_"'Night, De!"_

_"'Night, Sammy."_

_Dean flicked off one of the lamps and headed over to the table in the motel room, where he would clean the guns until his eyes were too heavy and he fell asleep._

_But he stayed up longer than usual that night, thinking hard. He couldn't seem to get any sleep._

_The truth was. . . The truth was. . ._

_He hadn't answered Sam's question because he didn't think he could_ _._

_He wasn't sure he had_ _a guardian angel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of my Gabriel reference? ;)
> 
> Also, an update on the image thing. I'm still working on it. I'll probably have some sort of way to access it at the next update.
> 
> See you all soon! You're amazing!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone!
> 
> I hope you're all doing well. I have another chapter that is stuffed with fluff, so I hope you like it! ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Eighteen**

Castiel woke up four days after their fight in the arena. He laid there for a moment, trying to remember what the sense of urgency was under his skin.

Then he jerked upright and flailed blindly for Dean, trying to find him.

Each night Castiel had fallen into a restless sleep, worrying about the demon. Each morning he'd woken and desperately checked his pulse, making sure Dean hadn't died during the night. Castiel's sleep was plagued by nightmares of waking and finding Dean stiff and dead, his last breath exhaled hours ago in the cold darkness of night.

This morning, however, he was relieved to find that Dean was alive. Even better, the demon's fever had broken and he looked less pale and sickly than before. Castiel sagged with relief, hand still resting gently on his partner's forehead.

The demon didn't wake up immediately, so Castiel waited for the single guard who managed to brave the snow to make sure they didn't starve.

"When do you think we'll be fighting again?" Castiel asked as the guard passed.

The demon guard seemed to contemplate the pros and cons of answering Castiel's question before responding, "Probably another week or so. It snowed more in the night."

Castiel thanked him, sitting back with the water and food.

"Cas? Wha's goin' on?" a raspy voice asked, thick with sleep.

Castiel looked up sharply, finding Dean wincing as he tried to sit up. 

"Dean. How are you feeling?" Castiel asked, pushing gently on Dean's chest to make sure he stayed down and didn't injure himself.

"Ohhh. . . My back's all sticky," the demon grunted. "I feel like I got run over by a truck."

Castiel snorted. "You had one hell of a fever. How's the rest of you?"

"Sore."

Castiel nodded. "Makes sense. You were out for four days."

"That's ridiculous," Dean grunted, but he didn't refute the information. He sighed. "Can you help me sit up?"

"No, but I can help you eat," Castiel replied. He knew it would be bad for Dean's body to have to work to keep him sitting up. The demon was already weak. But maybe if he had a little help. . .

He shuffled closer and slid his arms under the demon's shoulders, earning himself a yelp of surprise. Dean was too weak to do much more than grumble, however, as Castiel propped him up against him.

It ended with Castiel leaning against the back wall, supporting Dean's bodyweight. He was sitting between Castiel's legs, his back to Castiel's chest, a warm line across the front of the angel. 

They both knew that Castiel could have easily propped Dean up against the stone wall next to him, but Castiel had a feeling that neither of them were objecting.

Once that was finished, Castiel split their rations in two and handed Dean some. There, they discovered their next problem.

Dean was too weak to even lift the bread to his mouth, something he said was outrageous and 'stupid'.

After that revelation, the two sat there for a moment and contemplated what was about to happen.

"You don't mind-" Castiel began.

"Dude, I'm fucking snuggling with you like a fucking puppy with its mother, don't fucking start with me," Dean growled. "Just fucking do it and get it over with."

Castiel reflected that Dean said 'fuck' a lot when he was embarrassed.

Still, the angel didn't comment as he tore Dean's breakfast apart and lifted it, feeding it to the demon with gentle cautiousness. He waited for the demon to swallow, then fed him his next bite.

As they continued, Castiel realized that Dean's eyes were half-open, his body relaxed against the angel's. He was exhausted, Castiel was sure. And with that exhaustion, his mental blockades went down. Castiel was sure that the normal Dean would never have allowed this. But maybe the submissive part of the demon felt comforted by this, by being taken care of in such an intimate way.

Castiel was almost sorry when the food was gone. Dean managed to eat all of it, though, which was good. The demon had lost even more weight when he'd been sick, and he felt frighteningly light leaning against Castiel.

The angel tore open the water bag and guided Dean to drink, gently wiping his chin when he was finished. Dean drank enthusiastically, most likely severely dehydrated and thirsty.

Castiel was thirsty too. He'd been forgoing the water he usually had with breakfast, instead trying to get Dean up to health.

They sat like that for a while. At some point, Castiel's wings had drawn around Dean, cocooning him in a soft bubble of warmth. He had tipped his head back, resting it on Castiel's shoulder. The angel smiled fondly at him, arms going around his demon without a second thought.

The hall was blissfully quiet, the silence peaceful.

"You were having some pretty crazy fever dreams," the angel said after a while.

"Yeah," Dean responded quietly, voice smaller and more vulnerable than Castiel had ever imagined he'd hear it. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Castiel replied, unconsciously soothing the demon by running his palms gently up and down his arms.

He hadn't been able to decipher what Dean had been dreaming about every time, but it was often fairly clear in his begging and whimpering. Clear enough that Castiel now wanted to thoroughly beat and disintegrate Dean's father and his own brother, Michael.

Castiel saved some water from his own bag and soaked a part of his shirt that he'd torn off earlier in it.

"Let me take your shirt off. I'll clean your back," Castiel offered.

Dean did so, the process stiff and painful. The gashes on his back had finally stopped bleeding, though the scabs were thin and easily broken. When Castiel wiped over them with the damp rag, some crimson rubbed off.

He paused, though, frowning at Dean's back as he continued cleaning. "Dean, what are these?"

Dean tensed a little, his impressive back muscles flexing underneath Castiel's hand. "Scars," he said quietly. Castiel could hear in his voice that his vulnerability had gone away, his walls back up and higher than ever. The angel mourned the loss.

"From where?" Castiel asked, though he already knew.

"The faded ones are from my old man's belt. The new ones. . . You can probably guess," Dean said. His voice was quiet, as if he was afraid of Castiel getting angry. 

The angel merely ran his fingertips over the grooves and ridges, the torn skin, an overwhelming pit of sadness opening in his chest.

"Michael did this?"

"Some. Most of it was my father," Dean replied.

Castiel closed his eyes, fighting the sudden tightness in his throat, his chest. "I'll kill him. I'll kill them both," he said quietly, a little shocked by the intensity behind his own words.

"You can't kill your own brother," Dean scoffed, though Castiel could hear that he was a little surprised too. His voice got quieter as he said, "I've already taken care of my father."

It almost sounded as if he was worried about what Castiel would think, like the angel could ever be angry at him for defending himself.

All Castiel said was, "Good." He knew it was the right thing to say when Dean visibly relaxed.

Castiel cleaned the rest of Dean's back gently, going over the still-healing injuries. "You're going to have to make sure you don't tear these open again," he warned.

"Doing what?" Dean asked dryly. "Training? Fighting? Ballet? Not a lot of space in here, Cas."

Ignoring the happy thrum inside his chest at the nickname, Castiel replied, "You'd find a way." 

Dean chuckled at that.

From across the hall, a scratchy voice said, "So he wakes."

Castiel and Dean both looked up. Between the bars of their cage, they could see the witch from before had finally woken. "Good afternoon," Castiel called.

"I wish I could say the same!" the witch replied.

"What's stopping you?" Dean asked.

"You!" the witch cried, cackling. "I wanted you dead, demon. Well, now, it seems I have no chance after all."

To Castiel's surprise, Dean didn't get angry. He simply laughed. "If you thought you could get past Castiel, even alone, you have another thing coming, witch."

Castiel smiled at him, something warm stirring in his gut.

"I suppose I do," the witch called back. "Though it doesn't change the fact that I have no chance now. I should have died in peace like that faerie a few weeks back."

"Too late now," Dean replied.

He glanced over at Castiel questioningly. Castiel realized he'd never explained Cora's sacrifice.

_My gift is in life and death, angel. Think about how that may serve you._

Castiel quickly, quietly, explained the transition of power.

"So you could kill someone with faerie magic?" Dean asked, frowning curiously at the mark on Castiel's hand.

Castiel felt at the kernel of power beating in time with his heart. "I don't know. It may not do anything. But I can only use it once."

"Then don't," Dean said. "Not yet. Save it."

"Until when?" Castiel asked.

Dean snorted. "Sometime in the future. Don't worry, angel. I'm sure we'll have need of it real soon."

Over the next few days, as Dean healed and the snow was shoveled out of the arena, Castiel began to notice something strange.

It started innocently enough, or so Castiel thought. He was worried about Dean's wellbeing, worried that his partner would die and he'd be left alone to try to battle his way out of this arena.

But once Dean's back had healed almost halfway, where the demon could move and shift around without re-injuring himself, the feeling of protectiveness and care didn't disappear.

Castiel still wanted to give Dean his breakfast share of water, though the demon refused once he figured out what Castiel had been doing. Castiel still insisted on draping a protective wing over the demon's body at night, shielding them both from the cold.

For the most part, Dean didn't mind. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it. His tail, which had made a habit of wrapping around Castiel while they slept, managed to do so every night. Dean always uncurled it in the morning, muttering apologies, but Castiel didn't miss the fact that it continued to happen.

In fact, the demon seemed to seek out any opportunity to touch Castiel that he could. Whether it was his tail against the angel's wings, his knee bumping Castiel's, or 'accidentally' brushing him when reaching for food, the amount of physical contact between them had increased significantly.

Castiel didn't mind, though he wanted to beat John Winchester's face in on a daily basis for starving Dean so thoroughly of affection. Dean had divulged some information on his childhood in response to Castiel's doing so as well a few nights ago. The tale of abuse and constant training, if short, was enough to make Castiel want to kill Dean's father.

He could tell, however, that Dean loved his younger brother. Sam was very important to the submissive demon.

Castiel wondered, briefly, if Sam would like him. He found himself hoping so.

Overall, the change was positive and welcome, though Castiel didn't know why. He found himself looking to Dean first thing in the morning and last thing at night, marveling, if only at the softness of the demon's face in sleep.

Dean didn't notice. He didn't seem to mind, either, and he kept seeking touch.

So their strange dynamic continued. Castiel found it strange, if not unwelcome.

_At least_ , he thought one night, drifting off to sleep with his wing over Dean and the demon's tail already curled around him, _the days of three stones of space are far behind us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)
> 
> Also, I contacted the tech support in Ao3 and they told me that my computer is literally too old to translate images into the forum. I am really sorry. I tried to do it on my phone, but that didn't work either. :(
> 
> BUT, I can copy in the link! So here you have it, the incredibly well-drawn art from one of the most amazing readers ever: Naranjita. ;) Love you.
> 
> The link to the amazing art: https://www.instagram.com/p/B-4qAWnIdd1/
> 
> I'm also terrible with tech, so I can't manage to change that into a link, but if you tap on it and copy and paste into a new tab, it SHOULD work. Thank you so much for reading, and thank you to Naranjita for her incredible artwork!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty. Well. . . This chapter is a little short and yes, unfortunately, it is a bit of a filler. Just some insight into the how the boys are handling things.
> 
> Unfortunately, as much as I would love for Dean and Cas to stay in this happy little bubble forever, the snow will be cleared and the arena will begin again. And shit will definitely go down. ;)
> 
> But for now, enjoy the peace while it lasts. It won't for much longer. :)

**Nineteen**

Dean woke slowly, pulled gently from a deep, restful sleep.

He smiled a little, the silky warmth of Castiel's wing a protective weight on top of his body. Dean would never admit it, but something deep inside of him was soothed by the feeling of being shielded and protected.

He kept his eyes shut tight for a little longer, relishing the warmth. His tail was curled around Castiel's torso _again_ , but he didn't mind. He'd have to take it away soon, apologize to keep up appearances, but for now. . .

Dean relaxed a little, pressing into Castiel subconsciously as he did. The stone floor was hard and unyielding, but Castiel's body was soft and warm. The press of his skin against Dean's was comforting in a way the demon would never, ever admit.

Finally, he realized he needed to wake up. He opened his eyes.

Castiel was still asleep, breathing deeply. Dean unwrapped his tail from its embarrassing position around the angel's waist and slid out from the comforting, warm weight of his wing.

The outside air was painfully cold, making Dean want to leap right back to where he had been. But he stayed where he was, watching as the guard came down the hall to give them their breakfast.

Over the past few days, he'd heard of setbacks the cleaning crews were having. Their machinery was breaking down in the frigid cold. It was snowing more.

The prisoners who had managed to survive the cold up until now were hunkered down, trying to last out the week or so they had until the snow was inevitably cleared and the fighting began again.

Dean ate half of his portion of breakfast, saving the rest. He knew he could never convince the angel to eat it, but he could at least try. Castiel was getting thinner, the lack of real nutrients in their diet taking its toll on him. Come to think of it, they were both a lot skinner than before this arena. Dean especially, since he'd been a prisoner of Michael's for months beforehand.

The angel woke up soon. Dean handed him his portion along with the other half of his own. Castiel promptly placed Dean's half back in his lap and bit into his, chewing mechanically.

Dean sighed and ate the rest of his food, sucking down half of the water bag before handing the rest to Castiel. The angel drank the rest of it. They both placed the remnants of breakfast next to the cell door and sat back against the far wall.

"Want to train a little hand-to-hand?" Dean asked.

"No. You're still injured," Castiel replied, his voice leaving no room for argument. Dean sighed, tapping his head lightly against the back wall. It was true. He could now move slowly without tearing open the wounds, but if he moved to fast or too much, his back started to bleed again. It still throbbed dully, an ever-present ache that Dean could tune out most of the time.

Still, the problem remained that they were trapped in here for several days. Being stuck in a prison cell when you couldn't move wasn't very exciting.

"I'm bored," Dean sighed.

"I am too. But I'd rather be doing this than the alternative," Castiel replied.

Dean snorted in agreement.

They sat in silence for a while. The witch down the hall hummed a tuneless song, tapping her nails on the stone next to her in time. Dean glanced over at Castiel, watching the angel out of the corner of his eye.

His tan complexion had paled a little. His thick, muscled body had slimmed to lean, skinny muscle. 

But his dark hair was still its normal, tousled self. The guards gave the prisoners an hour every week to bathe and shave, though it was with ice cold water and a razor. Dean was grateful, wincing to think of how long his hair would have gotten by now. He'd start looking like Sammy.

He glanced away when he felt like Castiel was about to look at him, feeling almost guilty. Like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have.

A moment later, he was back to staring at his angel.

Castiel's ocean blue eyes still sparkled in the light of the naked bulbs that hung from the hallway ceiling. His dark wings, beautiful even in the shadows of the cell, were tucked behind him. Dean let his eyes linger on them for a moment, wondering what would happen if he ran his fingers through them, if only for a few minutes. . .

_Stop._

Dean flicked his eyes away, clasping his hands together before they could do something stupid.

"How many fighters do you think are left?" Castiel asked.

Dean jumped, startled by the angel's direct question. He thought for a moment. "I heard West Gate is completely wiped. I don't think there's many here, either," he said. The demon looked around at the empty cells, as if he could see the phantom werewolves and other creatures who had once been there. "My guess is there are only a few duos left."

Castiel nodded, eyes flicking to the empty cell to their right. He had told Dean about Cora the faerie, and about the gift she'd given him. Dean wished he could have thanked her before she'd died. He was glad, at least, that Castiel had that power and could protect himself. He didn't know what he'd do if the angel died.

And there it was again. That strange taboo feeling, like Dean was doing or thinking something he shouldn't be. He was only worried about his partner so that he had a better chance of survival. Right?

Right.

"What is the first thing you're going to eat when we get out of here?" Dean asked abruptly, trying to distract himself from the stupidity currently slamming around inside his head. Castiel chuckled.

"Anything other than bread, meat, and moldy cheese," he replied.

Dean laughed a little.

The demon was surprised at his own laugh. He didn't think he'd done more than chuckle in the past few weeks. Years, actually. And it the angel beside him that had dragged it out of him.

_Look how far we've come. From spitting insults at each other every chance we get to laughing over food._

Dean smiled to himself, shaking his head. It really was incredible.

"Is there anyone you're going back to?"

Dean didn't know why he asked the question. Maybe it was morbid curiosity. Maybe he really wanted to know. Or maybe it was to satisfy that small part of him that wondered who would get Castiel all to themselves when the angel was finally free.

_I am_ not _jealous._

"My brothers," Castiel said. He chuckled. "I miss them. Even Gabriel."

Dean smiled. "Yeah, I miss my brother too." He didn't miss the irony of the angel's name and the recent memory he'd had of when Sammy was little.

Before Dean could ponder that for too long, the angel was speaking again.

"Does he know you're here?" Castiel asked. It took Dean a second to remember they were talking about brothers. He winced, thinking of Sammy at Stanford, probably not even aware that his brother was in a death arena.

"Sam doesn't know a lot of things," Dean replied, his words shorter and more clipped than he'd intended. It was true. He tried to hide the less desirable parts of his life from his little brother.

"Does he knew you're a submissive demon?" Castiel asked.

"Yes," Dean replied, snorting. "It's not that easy to hide, Cas, when you're only five foot ten."

Castiel laughed. "Nothing wrong with that." He sounded genuine, but Dean looked to the side, some old bitterness rising up.

"I don't love it," he admitted under his breath. It was true. Being obviously smaller meant you were easier to pick on, and easier to identify as a 'slut'.

"There is nothing wrong with you, Dean Winchester," Castiel said seriously. "You are perfect. Your height included."

Dean flushed. "Well geez, Cas. You can't just say that to a guy."

"Why?"

Dean looked at the angel for a moment, face red. Castiel looked back, confused, his head tilted to the side.

"Never mind," the demon said.

He looked away, but that didn't make his blush disappear. Nor did it change the fact that the image of the angel with his head tilted to the side was forever burned into his memory.

Along with his words.

_There is nothing wrong with you, Dean Winchester. You are perfect._

Dean closed his eyes. He knew he shouldn't have felt so pleased about that. He knew his father would have been angry. He knew that if he continued down this path, this train of thought, it would only end bad for everyone involved.

He also knew he didn't give a shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy little chapter, plus Dean's pining. Always cute.
> 
> Yep, enjoy the fluff. And get ready for the Category 6, apocalypse-grade shitstorm that's about to descend.
> 
> See you soooon. ;)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Sorry for the late update. Only by a few hours, but I've been swamped with homework from online school. Is it just me, or do teachers give MORE work now that we're online and at home? :(
> 
> Anyway, I have some more of this story for you. This chapter is super short, but I promise they'll get longer as we get closer to the end. 
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

**Twenty**

They received the bad news the next day. 

The arena had been cleared.

Fighting would continue.

Castiel wished, for the first time, that he could see who they were fighting. It would be better, if only so they could form their strategies.

The day they came out to train, it was freezing cold and sunny. It seemed that two prisoners had died during the cold snap, but most everyone was alive and raring to go. The hour they had to train was even tenser than normal, everyone watching everyone else closely.

"That demon keeps watching us," Dean muttered to Castiel as they sparred with dulled swords.

"Which one?" Castiel asked, ducking an attack from Dean.

"There. Stop, he's coming toward us."

Dean paused, Castiel doing the same. They returned their weapons to their sides, turning as one to look across the arena.

A massive demon, taller than any Castiel had seen in a long time, was lumbering toward them. He was grinning, pale skin shining strangely in the sunlight. His black hair and brown eyes made him look almost normal, if it weren't for his size and the psychotic sheen in his eyes.

"Can we help you?" Castiel asked as he came closer. He could feel Dean shifting closer to him, the demon shaking almost imperceptibly.

"Not really, mate," the demon said, grinning. He had a thick Australian accent.

"Then do you mind leaving us alone?" Castiel asked, wings ruffling behind him. The demon's eyes flicked behind Castiel, taking in the way his wings were poised.

"'Course, mate. Just had to get a scope on the competition, is all," the demon replied. He grinned, baring sharp white teeth. "The name's Ormatu."

"Castiel," the angel replied coldly. 

"And your submissive friend?" Ormatu asked, cocking his head mockingly to the side, eyes on Dean.

Castiel resisted the urge to flare his wings and shield Dean from the demon's eyes. He felt strangely possessive, like he wanted to rip this guy's throat out for simply _looking_ at Dean.

Castiel looked around, realizing that they were the center of attention. Even the guards were watching, waiting to see how the top dogs of the arena handled opposition.

"My name is Dean," Dean said, stepping forward, tilting his chin up defiantly. He looked Ormatu in the eyes, shaking slightly, as if he were fighting his very instincts themselves.

"Perfect," Ormatu sneered.

"Great, we all know each other. We'll be leaving now," Castiel said, putting a hand on the small of Dean's back. 

"Being led around by an angel, Dean? You've dropped low enough to allow even a pathetic feather-duster to tell you what to do?" Ormatu asked, going straight for the throat. His voice was quiet, full of malice.

Dean stiffened beside Castiel.

Castiel pressed harder on the demon's back. A warning not to say anything too brash and begin a fight that could cost them their lives.

But Dean didn't back down. He glared up at Ormatu. "If Castiel is pathetic, what does that make you?"

Ormatu snarled at him. "Sassing me, are you? I could bend you over the nearest object and teach you your place," he hissed.

"That's assuming you even have a dick to do so with," Dean replied smoothly.

"You little bitch," Ormatu snarled. "You're much prettier with your mouth shut and your eyes down."

"We'll see if you're saying the same when I have my knife to your throat," Dean hissed back. 

Ormatu had squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. He looked truly enormous, especially staring down Dean, who didn't even breach six feet.

"You're assuming a lot, slut. I'll be the one killing you. You'll be begging for death when I'm done with you," Ormatu snarled dangerously. Castiel opened his mouth to defend Dean, but the demon already had it handled.

"Please," Dean scoffed. "If I wanted to die I'd climb your ego and jump to your IQ."

Ormatu's face got red. He stepped forward, his shoulders set and his fists clenched.

At this point, the guards stepped forward too. They got between the duo and the demon, grunting threats and reminders about what would happen if they got into a fight during training.

"We'll see you in the arena," Castiel said to Ormatu, voice filled with cold steel.

With that, Dean and Castiel turned to walk the other way.

"Sorry, Cas," Dean muttered as they got out of earshot. He looked ashamed now that no one could see them, though he was still trembling slightly.

"Why?" Castiel asked. "I was itching to punch that bastard in the face. You handled it better than I would have."

Dean chuckled. He sounded relieved, as if he'd been genuinely worried Castiel would be angry. 

Training ended a few minutes later. They headed back to the near-deserted North Gate, going down the familiar path to their cell.

It was only when they reached the cell and stepped through the door that Castiel realized his hand hadn't left its protective place on Dean's back.

Not once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pilot, that was for you. Your OC is absolutely horrendous, in the best way. ;)
> 
> I'm thinking of updating with three days between chapters now, just to build the suspense. Don't worry, I'll still finish this story. But I thought that I could probably extend it a little longer. ;)
> 
> WAIT, I also needed to ask if you could see the picture from the last chapter alright. Was it accessible? I'd hate for anyone to miss out on Naranjita's incredible fanart. If there was a technical problem, please tell me so I can try (struggle) to fix it! :) Love you guys!
> 
> Tell me what you thought, tell me how you're doing, rant about online school, whatever. ;) I'm here to listen. Hope you're all doing well! See you soon!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I bet you thought I couldn't follow through on the three-days-between-updates-thing.
> 
> Unfortunately for everyone, I could. :(
> 
> But I'm posting now! And I have a chapter full of fluff for you. It's the last one for a while. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Twenty-One**

They didn't fight that day. Dean knew the peace wouldn't last. He also knew that the guards wouldn't pass up the chance to see a good fight, that they'd report the run-in he and Castiel had had with Ormatu. 

There was no doubt they would face the demon in the arena.

That night, Castiel and Dean ate in silence. They hadn't spoken since training that morning.

The truth was, Dean was amazed. They hadn't worked so seamlessly, melded so perfectly. . . ever. They had read each other's emotions, picked up on each other's thoughts, worked effortlessly as a team to defend themselves against Ormatu.

It felt. . . It felt surprisingly good.

And maybe it was because Dean hadn't had a teammate in a long time. Someone who could watch his back, someone who was willing to fight on his side.

After dinner, Castiel groomed his wings. Like clockwork, Dean knelt down behind him, helped him groom the places he couldn't reach.

Tonight, though, was different.

Dean's hands were softer, less cursory and more thorough, running through the many layers of the angel's feathers.

"Your wings are beautiful."

Dean didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Castiel responded. "Thank you."

Dean flushed. "I didn't mean to say that out loud."

Castiel laughed, his back expanding in time with his breaths, muscles contracting with his laughter. His wings puffed a little. They did that when he was pleased. In response, Dean's tail curled in happiness.

_Fuck my stupid biology_ , Dean thought.

But he was smiling too.

He continued grooming Castiel's wings, his fingers gently rearranging feathers and brushing sand out from between the thick layers. 

"You're surprisingly good at that," Castiel said. Dean could hear the smile, soft and sweet, in his voice.

The demon smiled himself, resisting the sudden and ridiculous urge to lean forward and press his forehead to the soft, warm skin of Castiel's back. 

_What the_ fuck _has gotten into me?_

"Would you like me to massage your horns?" Castiel asked, startling Dean. The demon paused his ministrations.

"Uh. . . I don't know," he said honestly.

Castiel didn't reply, just turned around and smiled at Dean.

His face was so soft and open. So sweet. His eyes were warm and filled with an emotion Dean couldn't quite place. Something that was frighteningly close to the feeling in the demon's chest.

When Castiel reached out, Dean didn't flinch away. In fact, he heaved a soft sigh of. . . something. Relief? Maybe.

It felt incredible when Castiel grasped the base of Dean's horns, rubbing his fingertips gently along the ridged surface. The demon suppressed a whine of pleasure as the angel's fingers ran up the curve of his horns, their pressure ranging from kneading and heavy to light and gentle. 

The demon didn't know he was tipping forward, into Castiel's touch, until his forehead met the angel's chest.

He froze.

Castiel didn't react, just kept massaging Dean's horns, running his fingers along the graceful backward curve.

Dean stayed tense for as long as he could before the warmth and comfort of Castiel's chest became too much. With a sigh of defeat, the demon scooted closer and leaned against the angel, eyes closing.

_I will never go to Heaven_ , Dean thought. _But if I did. . . this would be it._

He was warm, blessedly warm, the frigid night air of the arena kept away by Castiel's wing. It swept around them both, tucking Dean against the angel's chest. Castiel was warm, his chest soft, yet firm with muscle. His heart beat strong and steady beneath Dean's cheek. 

The angel's hand switched from massaging Dean's horns to running through his hair, and the demon made an embarrassing noise. It was a sort of whimper, a soft whine of pleasure and gratitude.

Something rumbling and deep answered from Castiel's chest.

Dean's tail snaked between the two of them and wrapped around Castiel of its own accord, causing the angel to chuckle.

"I will deny this in the morning," Dean said quietly, his eyes still closed.

Castiel chuckled again and kissed the top of Dean's head. It was light and gentle. The demon felt his body fill up with light from head to toe.

"That's alright," the angel replied quietly. "As long as I get you now."

Dean cuddled closer without a word.

His eyes were still shut, his lips curved upward in a soft, content smile.

Dean fell asleep soon after, Castiel's hand carding through his hair gently.

The angel smiled down at the demon, any fear he had harbored from the morning training dissipating.

Castiel. . . he would fight his fear. The fear of losing Dean, of the growing relationship between them, of the feeling he felt in his chest that didn't disappear and only grew stronger whenever he saw Dean.

But they would fight those fears in the morning.

For now. . . Castiel had meant what he'd said.

_I'll be happy_ , he thought to himself. _As long as I have Dean now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, I know. The next one will be longer. Tell me what you thought! Actually, tell me anything. How's quarantine going for everyone? I hope you're all safe and healthy. 
> 
> See you all in three days! ;)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> Great to see/hear from you all again! I hope you're all doing well!
> 
> This chapter doesn't have any fighting in it, but I promise the next one does. This one is very important to Dean and Castiel's relationship, however, and it offers some insight into them both.
> 
> It's mostly Dean-centric. If you're waiting for Castiel whump, well. . . ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Twenty-Two**

Castiel knew before he opened his eyes that something was wrong.

He opened them and sighed.

Dean had moved since he'd woken. He was in the far corner of the cell, glowering at Castiel.

_Just like old times_ , the angel thought bitterly.

He sighed, going for the half of breakfast Dean had left him. The air was tense and heavy with unspoken words and anger. Castiel wondered just how much of that anger was directed at him.

"Are you going to say something or continue glaring at me?" the angel finally asked, unable to stand the silence.

Dean snorted. "What do you want me to say?" he asked. His voice was rough and quiet.

"Anything. Why are you like this?" Castiel asked, the annoyance in his voice almost able to cover up the pleading note.

_I will deny this in the morning._ Dean's words rang in Castiel's head.

His own answered back, _That's alright. As long as I get you now._

"I shouldn't have done that last night," Dean said. He sounded angry, and Castiel wondered if it was at himself.

"Then why did you?" the angel asked quietly.

Dean gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching. 

Castiel expected him to say something mean. He expected the demon to say something hateful and cruel, most likely directed at angels. But he didn't.

The demon laughed coldly. There was a self-deprecating tone to it that Castiel didn't like. He didn't like the words that followed either.

"I don't know, Cas. Maybe because I'm fucking broken," he growled, looking away.

Castiel snarled, blindsided by a sudden wave of rage. "You are not broken," he bit out.

"Yes I am, you stupid fuck." The anger and bitterness in Dean's voice wasn't directed at Castiel, but it still hurt to hear him take such a tone. "I'm useless. I can barely get shoved down the hall by those damned idiots they call guards without wanting to lean into it. Your fucking wings? Forget it. I fucking hate them. I fucking hate you. I fucking hate the way my body reacts to you. I fucking hate that all I want is for you to wrap your damned wings around me and hold me. And I fucking hate myself."

Castiel stared at Dean, his previous anger overpowered by his shock at the tide of hate and rage that had just flowed from the demon's mouth.

Dean was watching him with a strange look in his eyes. It was resigned and dead, but there was also a faint flicker of fear. Castiel was sure that he was afraid the angel would explode at him.

And Castiel felt like it. He felt like blowing up, like flaring his wings and grabbing Dean and shouting. But he took in the slight tremble of the demon's limbs, the way he bit hard on his bottom lip, and the angel softened.

"Dean," Castiel said quietly. "Do you hate those things because you hate them? Or because your father told you to?"

Dean opened his mouth to reply, his lip bitten and bloody, but no sound came out. The demon shut his mouth, then opened it and tried again. When nothing came out the second time, he gave up and looked away, face flushing with embarrassment.

Castiel closed his eyes, shoving down the urge to grasp Dean's chin and force him to make eye contact.

"Dean. . ." He trailed off.

Angels could see other creatures' souls, if they tried to make the connection. It was usually a secret, what another person's soul looked like. You couldn't walk up to your significant other and tell them that their soul was stained with sin. On the opposite spectrum, telling someone their soul was beautiful might give them bad ideas.

But this was a special circumstance. 

"Dean, I. . . I've seen your soul," Castiel said quietly. "It's. . . It is truly remarkable."

Dean looked up, shock on his face. Maybe he'd registered the awe and adoration in Castiel's voice. Maybe he was just shocked by the knowledge itself.

Castiel smiled a little in reminiscence, remembering his own shock when he'd witnessed the beauty of the demon's soul. Most demons didn't even possess souls, but Dean's was almost brighter than an angel's grace.

"It is so bright, so pure," Castiel continued, smiling to himself. "So beautiful." He paused a little, his face falling. Dean tensed, as if waiting to hear the 'but'. 

"What? What's wrong with it?" Dean asked. He sounded resigned. As if he'd been expecting this. It hurt Castiel's heart to know that the demon thought so badly of himself.

"There's nothing wrong," Castiel replied softly. "It's beautiful. But there are places where it is broken. Shattered. By people and things in your life that you could not control."

It was true. Castiel had never seen a soul more beautiful, or more broken. And there were spots, too. Places where darkness had crept in, borne of crippling self-hatred and intense pain. Somehow, Castiel found that those dark spots only made Dean's soul all the more beautiful to behold.

"Sounds like bullshit," Dean said. His voice was choked, his body a line of hard tension.

"It's not," Castiel replied. He smiled to himself. "It's the most beautiful soul I've ever seen. And your hatred of yourself. . . it doesn't make sense. What your father and my brother and. . . and everyone else said. . . They've never seen your soul. They just wanted to hurt you, Dean. And they have."

"I'm not broken," Dean said quietly, contradicting what he'd said only moments before.

"No," Castiel agreed, smiling gently. "Just a little bruised."

Dean glared at him, but it was offset by the trembling of his body and the way his tail curled around him, much like Castiel's wings had done when he was a fledgling.

"Dean. . . Castiel began, struggling to get the words right in his head. He knew that a lot rested on this, on his ability to speak and communicate with the demon. Perhaps even their lives.

The demon was watching him warily, eyes careful. Castiel swallowed, clenching his hands. His palms were sweating.

"Dean, it's okay. You don't have to. . . You don't have to fight your biology. You don't have to fight your emotions. You don't have to fight anymore."

Castiel's words made Dean close his eyes, pain written across his handsome face. His tail curled tighter, as if the demon were trying to comfort himself. It made Castiel's heart squeeze.

"Cas," Dean choked out, his voice absolutely shattered, "I've been fighting my entire life."

Castiel smiled at him sadly.

"Would it really be so bad to rest? Just for a little while," the angel said. His voice was soft, gentle. Dean shook his head, shutting his eyes. He looked so small, curled in the corner, his tail wrapped around him.

Castiel longed to go over and wrap the demon up in his wings. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair and hold him close and-

_What am I thinking?_

Castiel stopped his line of thought, shocked into stillness for a moment. What _was_ he thinking? 

When had such thoughts become normal? When had Dean become so familiar? And when had Castiel. . . when had he. . .

_Don't go there. Not yet._

"I have nowhere _to_ rest, Cas," Dean said quietly, breaking Castiel from his thoughts. "I have nowhere to go. Even if we survive this arena, I have no family and no friends, all at my own fault. I've been digging this grave for myself since Sammy left for Stanford."

Castiel swallowed, fighting past the tightness of his throat. "Maybe you need a. . . a friend. Maybe you need someone to help you dig out of that grave. One step at a time."

Dean blinked at Castiel. His green eyes were filled with frustrated, self-hating tears. That shattered, dead look was still there.

But flickering in the green depths. . . 

A sliver of hope lingered.

Castiel smiled kindly and lifted his wing.

Dean hesitated for a moment, still fighting, still hanging on to his old habits, his old life.

But the demon got up. He walked over, across the cell.

And he sat down beside the angel, not even fighting as his tail curled around the angel instinctively. Dean just sighed, exhausted, as Castiel wrapped his wings around them both, tucking the demon closer.

As the crowd's roar began to swell, the second day of fighting beginning again, the angel and the demon fell asleep side-by-side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> Hope you liked it! I'll see you all soon!
> 
> OH, also. I KNOW demons don't have souls and that's what makes them demons. However, I can't think of Mary as a demon, so I figured she was a human who fell in love with a demon (John) and therefore, both of their sons are half-demon and have souls. :)
> 
> If that's too tough to handle, you can yell at me. I just wanted to get that soul-talk in. I love when Castiel tells Dean his soul is beautiful. ;)
> 
> See you soon!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> How are you? I hope you're all doing well. I also hope that you enjoy this chapter. It's very long, and full of lots of action. ;)

**Twenty-Three**

Dean woke up warm and comfortable for the second day in a row. He blinked a little, glancing over at Castiel.

The angel was still sleeping, his wing tucked around them, pulling Dean tight to his body. He was warm, comfortable, and Dean could stay have stayed there forever.

He couldn't, though. He slid out from underneath Castiel's wing and headed to the front of the bars, squinting out at the hall.

The witch wasn't in her cage. The air was quiet.

They'd slept through the day. The crowds must have gone home. And the witch must have died, spilling her blood on the arena sands.

Dean felt a little sick, realizing that today they would probably be fighting. Today they might die.

_I won't let that happen_ , Dean thought, looking back at Castiel's sleeping face. _I won't let Cas get hurt._

He didn't read too deep into the implications of those thoughts, the conversation they'd had yesterday. He headed back and slid underneath Castiel's wing again, content to stay there until the angel woke up.

It didn't take long.

Castiel yawned as he woke, blinking his eyes open. His wing tightened around Dean and he smiled sleepily at the demon, practically melting his heart. Cas was adorable.

"Hello, Dean," he rasped, his voice like gravel. Dean laughed a little.

"Hey, Cas. How'd you sleep?"

"Fantastic," the angel replied, his wing squeezing Dean again. He glanced around. "Did you ask the witch what time it was?"

"She's dead. Died yesterday, I think," Dean replied.

Castiel winced. "We missed the entire day?"

"Yeah."

"So we're fighting today."

"Yeah. It's gonna be that demon son of a bitch from training," Dean replied.

Castiel nodded grimly. Dean swallowed, resisting the urge to curl closer to the angel. Castiel did it for him, his wing pulling the demon closer to his body almost imperceptibly.

Dean was about to lay his head on Castiel's shoulder when they heard footsteps. Castiel's wings uncurled and Dean shoved himself away. No use giving the arena workers any reason to tease or humiliate them.

The guard was only carrying one pallet of food. "You're the last duo in North Gate," he told them. "Congratulations."

He didn't sound mocking, for once. He put the food in their cell and closed the door, then paused before heading back the way he'd come.

"How many are left?" Castiel asked from the other corner, stopping the guard before he could disappear.

"Not many," the guard replied, shaking his head as he turned to look at them. "There will only be a few more rounds. West Gate is completely deserted, and East Gate lost a lot of fighters yesterday."

"Do you know an exact number?" Dean asked.

The guard shook his head.

The angel and demon glanced at each other, then thanked the guard as he walked away. 

When he was out of earshot, Castiel turned to Dean. "We need to make a plan to defeat Ormatu."

The fight took place at the end of the day. 

The other two fights ran long. The first one went two and a half hours, the crowd not losing steam the entire time. In fact, they seemed even more riled up as the day went on. They were still screaming full force when Dean and Castiel stepped out onto the sand.

The gate closed shut behind them, locking them into the arena. The sand was stained with blood from the earlier fights, clumpy and strewn about. 

Ormatu stood at the other end of the arena, his dark hair and darker eyes gleaming.

The sky was stained blood red, the sun setting. The overhead lights had come on, bright and painful, lighting the bloodied sand with a strange white glow. Guards armed with crossbows patrolled, ready to shoot Castiel down if he opened his wings and tried to escape.

On a table to the right, an array of weapons were laid out.

Dean and Castiel grabbed their respective weapons, the ones they'd planned on. Dean felt nervous as he looked out at the bloodied sand, stained with fights from past competitors.

"We're going to be fine," Castiel shouted over the roar of the crowd.

Dean nodded at him to show he'd understood, though he couldn't fight his stab of fear as the flare to begin flashed in the air.

Ormatu stalked forward, a heavy broadsword in his hands.

_That thing is enormous_ , Dean thought fearfully.

Castiel, with his own, smaller sword gleaming, led the way forward. Dean hung back a little, swallowing his fear.

_There are two of us and one of him_ , Castiel had said when they'd been planning earlier. _If I can distract him, maybe he won't be thinking enough of you to watch his back._

They met near the middle of the sand.

Ormatu swung first. Dean winced in sympathy as the blow crashed onto Castiel's blade, the angel's arms shuddering with the force of the swing.

"Foolish angel," Ormatu laughed. "I was hoping you'd come for me first."

His tail swept out from behind.

"CAS!" Dean shouted, panic surging through him.

The angel couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to. His sword was being held in place, his entire body straining to keep Ormatu's sword from impaling him. 

As it was, he could only watch as Ormatu's tail speared toward him, cutting through the air in half a second and shooting straight through Castiel's chest.

Dean screamed.

It was horrible, guttural, panicked. He sprinted forward, not even caring that Ormatu was laughing above him, not even caring that the crowd was screaming louder than ever.

No, no, no, no, _no_. . . It was all falling apart. Their carefully crafted plan was shattering to pieces, their chances of survival dwindling to nearly none.

Dean didn't care. All he saw was blood, Castiel's red blood, spreading across the sand.

Dean skidded to a stop beside the fallen angel, panic causing his hands to shake.

Castiel's eyes were half-open, his breathing wet and stuttering.

"Cas, Cas, Cas, _Cas!_ " Dean sobbed, fingers flying across the angel's chest.

"Dean," Castiel rasped, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd.

Dean shushed him, frantically inspecting his wound. Ormatu's tail wasn't large, but it was sharp. It had speared through the upper flesh of Castiel's left pectoral.

A small hope fluttered in Dean's chest as he realized that the wound was more to Castiel's shoulder than his chest. He stripped off his shirt hurriedly, not caring who saw, and packed it against the bleeding wound.

"Hold that there!" Dean shouted.

"Dean. . . ," Castiel rasped again.

Dean leaned down. "What?" he asked, knowing that Ormatu was gloating, knowing that the demon was waiting for him. He could have easily ended it all, just cut Dean in half with that awful sword and finished Cas, but he didn't. He was dragging it out, putting on a show.

Castiel coughed a little, blood red on his lips.

In a choked rasp, barely audible over the scream of the crowd, Castiel forced out a single word. 

" _Fight._ "

Dean leaned back, nodding at his partner. He couldn't speak. His throat was too choked for him to force anything else out. He looked up, at where Ormatu was smiling down at him from a few feet away.

"Done saying goodbyes?" Ormatu asked sweetly. "Don't worry, mate. You'll see him in Hell soon enough."

He raised his sword.

But Dean was done kneeling beside Castiel, done doing nothing but watch. He made sure the angel was still holding onto his shirt, which was pressed against his shoulder wound, and then stood to face Ormatu.

"You son of a bitch!" Dean roared.

Ormatu laughed as the smaller demon came running at him. He swung his sword as Dean neared.

The submissive demon ducked what surely would have been a killing blow, sliding along the sand as the sword swished overhead. As Ormatu recovered from his swing, Dean punched him square in the space between his legs.

Ormatu howled, deep voice an octave higher than normal.

"You little shit!"

Dean took off running.

He had no idea what he was doing. No idea what he was going to do. All he knew was that he wanted to get Ormatu as far away from Castiel as he could.

His partner was still lying across the sand, his wings spread around him like a falling star. He would have looked beautiful, had he not been bleeding out onto the arena floor.

Dean ran, not looking back. Once he was sure he was far enough away, he turned to see how far behind him Ormatu was.

He found the demon right behind him, panting from running hard, face red.

Dean yelped in surprise and fear as Ormatu lunged at him, grabbing the submissive demon around the neck and lifting him easily in the air.

The crowd screamed its approval.

Dean struggled, his hands clawing at Ormatu's. The demon's enormous hands circled all the way around Dean's throat, crushing him.

For a split second, fear and panic overrode every one of Dean's senses and he couldn't breathe.

_All he has to do to end it is twist. I would be dead in seconds. And then he'd finish off Cas._

Dean sobbed through his teeth, flailing. His tail was small and would do nothing against Ormatu's thick hide. He was at the demon's mercy.

"You little _shit_. You're lucky I have no choice but to kill you," Ormatu snarled. He grinned chillingly, face lighting up with cruel glee. "I usually love submissive demons. They're fun to break. Especially little rebellious bitches like you."

Dean bared his teeth at him, still struggling. Ormatu's hands tightened a fraction and Dean wheezed.

"My partner was a submissive demon too. I killed her in the first arena after I finished having my way with her," Ormatu said. 

The words took a second to register, the effect of having the oxygen flowing to his brain cut off.

But Dean understood what Ormatu was saying. What he had done. Rage, hot and fierce, filled Dean. He snarled at the dominant demon, disgusted at his words, at the actions they described. Ormatu just laughed. "Don't you think I could do the same to you?"

Dean choked as the demon's hands tightened again. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, his breath coming in little wheezing gasps. He'd stopped struggling, trying to save energy and oxygen, his body dangling in the air. 

All around them, the crowd chanted for death.

"Your precious angel isn't here to save you," Ormatu hissed. "Don't think no one sees the way you look at him. The way he looks at you. You're far closer than partners." He grinned cruelly. "That's a liability, here."

_Yes. A liability!_ a voice like Dean's father snarled.

_But. . . is it?_

Dean choked as Ormatu's hands clenched as hard as they would go, cutting off his airway completely. The crowd noise hollowed in his ears, sounding tinny and faraway.

_Is Castiel a liability? Our partnership. . . is it?_

_Not really._

_He's protected me, and I've protected him. If we weren't. . . friends, we wouldn't have worked so easily together._

_And this demon, this son of a_ bitch _. . . he hurt Cas. He_ hurt _him._

_I'm not gonna let that go unpunished._

Dean flopped his arms down, feigning exhaustion. Well. . . not all of it was acting. There was black creeping in on the edges of his vision, threatening to overtake his sight. 

Ormatu's grinning face would be the last thing he saw.

_I won't go down without a fight. If only for Cas._

Dean felt at the small dagger he'd chosen on the table, hidden in his clothes, part of the grand plan he and Castiel had concocted that they'd never followed through on.

He couldn't really feel his fingers, could barely feel the crude carvings on the wooden hilt of the tiny knife. But he pulled it out of the pocket of his pants anyway, gripping tight and praying he didn't drop it.

Dean unsheathed the dagger and swung his arm, burying it deep in its target.

Ormatu grunted in surprise.

Dean hadn't gone for the hands. He hadn't gone for the chest.

He'd reached up and plunged the dagger straight into the demon's eye, all the way to his brain.

Right as the black closed in on Dean's vision, Ormatu's hands loosened.

Air rushed back into Dean's lungs. He coughed, struggling to breathe past the scratchiness in his throat. He was dimly aware that he had fallen to the sand, that the crowd was screaming louder than he'd ever heard it before, and that Ormatu had slumped to the ground.

Dean choked, coughing and gasping.

_Cas._

He turned his head blindly, dragging himself across the sand in the direction of his fallen partner. As the oxygen cleared the darkness of his vision and Dean was able to breathe again, he shoved himself to a standing position and staggered over to Castiel's fallen form.

The angel's eyes were shut tight, his face pale. Dean's shirt, still held against the wound loosely, was soaked with blood.

The demon fell to his knees beside the angel, pressing his face to his warm chest. "Cas," he sobbed, the scream of the crowd suddenly too much. All he wanted was to curl up under Castiel's wing, for the angel to wake up and be okay and smile that beautiful, gummy smile of his.

"Cas," he sobbed. "Cas, please wake up. _Cas_."

The guards arrived. They ripped Dean away from his angel, tearing a screech of pain and rage from the demon's throat.

"Shut the fuck up, you little bitch!" one of the guards roared in Dean's ear. "Get back to your damned cell!"

Dean was shoved forward, his knees weak. He stumbled to the ground and was kicked, his breath flying out of his chest. He got up again, desperate, and watched as two guards forcefully dragged Castiel between the two of them.

_No! No, they're hurting him!_

Dean roared and struggled again, but he was too weak. The guards dragged him and his unconscious partner across the sand, the angel's wings dragging in the sand behind them.

They made it all the way to North Gate, to their old, familiar cell. Dean was tossed in forcibly, Castiel not much better. The demon snarled savagely at the guards, who jeered and tossed the heavy metal First Aid Kit at his face. It caught his cheekbone, drawing a small rivulet of blood and hurling him to the ground.

Dean sniffled a little, watching as the guards left. He turned immediately to Castiel, once he regained his senses. 

Dean ignored the extra shirt they'd put in the cell, the food and water. That would come later.

Dean worked to bandage the wound, which had stopped pumping blood as profusely. He cleaned it and then packed bandages against it, wrapping Castiel's shoulder tightly. He cleaned up the rest of the angel, gently wiping blood from his face.

_Don't think no one sees the way you look at him. The way he looks at you. You're far closer than partners._

Dean shivered as Ormatu's words came back to him. He shook his head. It wasn't the time. He could think about it, mull it over, tear it apart piece by piece. . . later. 

For now, he had to focus everything he had on saving his angel. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> I realized that I don't thank you people enough for being so amazing, so thank you. Thank you for all the comments. Thank you for all the kudos and hits. Thank you for all the support. And thank you for being amazing human beings (or aliens, if that's you. ;).
> 
> See you soon!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooooo, everybody!
> 
> You're all amazing, have I said that before? Not enough? Okay, I'll say it again.
> 
> You precious human bean, you. . . You're amazing. ;)

**Twenty-Four**

Castiel groaned as he opened his eyes.

He felt awful. His head was pounding. His mouth felt dry as a desert and tasted like metal. And his _shoulder. . ._

Castiel blinked around, the filthy stones of his prison coming into focus. He was back in the cell again. Dean was at the far end, rummaging around.

He turned, and Castiel fought to keep down whatever was in his stomach.

There was a ring of bruises around Dean's neck. The ring nearly reached his chin, extending to his collarbone. The bruises were dark and deep, colored like ink. There was another bruise, not as dark but bleeding slightly, on his cheekbone.

But. . . But he was _alive._

"You did it," Castiel rasped. He grinned at Dean, face muscles slow to react and probably making him look like a maniac.

The demon made a soft noise of relief, his eyes flying wide as he saw that Castiel was awake. 

"Cas!" His voice sounded awful, like it had been dragged across razorblades and left to shrivel up in the desert sun. Castiel winced in sympathy.

Dean helped him sit up, murmuring raspy apologies as the angel winced. His shoulder hurt like hell, but it was better than it had been before. There was a neatly wrapped bandage surrounding the joint, newly changed by the feel and look of it.

"Here," Dean rasped. He shoved a full bag of water into Castiel's hands. The angel was too thirsty to care that the water was warm as he sucked it from the bag, some dribbling down his chin. It washed the taste of metal and blood from his mouth.

Dean handed him some food, too, which Castiel ate.

"Drink," Dean said again as he handed another bag to Castiel. The angel shook his head, pushing the water away even though he was still thirsty. 

"You haven't had anything," he protested.

"They gave us two each," Dean explained, shoving the bag into Castiel's hands.

After a moment, Castiel sighed, nodding. He drank the water, then accepted the food Dean held out. As he ate, the angel watched Dean put away a metal box that looked like a First Aid Kit.

"Where's your food?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Already ate it," Dean rasped. Castiel frowned, looking around the bare cell.

"Where's the trash?"

Dean stilled for a moment, face flushed bright red, and Castiel growled low in his throat. "Dean. They didn't give us two servings, did they?"

The demon sighed. "You needed the nutrients. He hurt you pretty bad."

Castiel snarled a little. "Doesn't matter," he argued. "You need the nutrients too. Besides, you lied to my face."

"It _does_ matter _._ You needed it more than I did!"

"You could have told me, at least!" Castiel growled, raking a hand through his hair.

"You wouldn't have eaten it!" Dean cried, his tail curling around himself.

Castiel probably should have read the signs. He should have realized that the demon was defending himself instead of trying to goad the argument.

But he didn't.

Castiel was disoriented after waking up from an injury, and the pain was making him angry. Not to mention, he was furious with himself for passing out and letting Dean fight Ormatu alone.

Why he was taking it out on the demon, he had no idea.

"I might have eaten it, if you'd actually _said_ something!" Castiel retorted. A voice in the back of his head warned him against what he was saying, what he was doing. There was no reason for him to take his own frustration at himself out on Dean. "You can't just lie to me, Dean!"

"It was for your own good!" the demon shouted back.

"How many other times have you lied to me 'for my own good'? This whole damned thing is built on trust, Dean. How do I know you won't just stab me in the back when I'm sleeping?" Castiel demanded.

To be fair, it was a valid argument and a sensible fear. They barely knew each other, and they'd been enemies not that long ago.

Still, that didn't mean that what Castiel had said was right in any way.

Immediately, he knew he'd gone too far.

Dean had already been fragile, and he had been slowly breaking more and more as the argument went on. At Castiel's last sentence, his resolve broke and his face crumbled.

_Oh, shit._

"Dean?" Castiel asked, voice sounding so soft compared to the angry shout it had been before.

"I would _never_ , Cas," Dean said quietly, his voice so broken up and raspy Castiel could barely understand him. "I thought you were going to die. I'm still not sure. . . And you were just laying there. . . "

He trailed off, and tears welled in his bright green eyes.

Castiel opened his wings, not caring that the action made his shoulder sing with pain. They spread across the back wall, black and glimmering in the half light.

"Dean, I'm sorry. Please, don't be angry. I didn't mean to hurt you, I was just angry at myself and I took it out on you. I'm so sorry," Castiel said. "Please, sweetheart, come here."

Dean's eyes widened a little, and Castiel realized what he'd just said.

He opened his mouth to apologize again, this time for the accidental pet name, but before he could get the words out he found his lap full of trembling Dean Winchester.

Castiel closed his eyes and wrapped his wings around the demon as tight as he could, burying his face in Dean's light brown hair.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he whispered, not caring that it made Dean shiver harder. "I'm so sorry."

Dean sniffled a little, the tears in his eyes finally breaking free. Castiel stroked through his hair gently, whispering soothing words.

"I th-thought you were gonna die," Dean choked out, his voice raspy and awful. "I was s-so scared. Cas, you w-were just _laying_ there, and there was n-nothing I could do, and it was all my _fault_ -"

"Shh, no it wasn't," Castiel murmured, his voice firm but gentle. "It's okay, I'm okay. I'm here now."

"H-He hurt you and it was all my fault," Dean sobbed. "I'm such a fucking idiot. I n-never should have said all that shit at training-"

"You were defending yourself," Castiel cut in. "And I wouldn't have had it any other way. You took him on alone, Dean, and I am so sorry for that. But you did it, and I'm. . . I'm very proud of you."

The shiver that went through Dean as he said that last sentence made Castiel smile. He gently kissed the top of the demon's forehead, not caring that Dean would probably yell at him later for it.

"Don't do that again," Dean said quietly, and Castiel knew he wasn't talking about the forehead kiss.

Castiel chuckled. "I won't. I promise."

He buried his face in Dean's hair, inhaling the scent of the rough soap they used when they were allowed to bathe. The demon was still shaking, and Castiel squeezed him tighter with his wings.

"Do you like when I call you sweetheart?" the angel asked after a while. Dean flushed bright red.

"Maybe. But don't tell Sammy," he mumbled.

Castiel laughed. The movement sent twangs of pain through him, but he didn't care. The demon in his arms was so precious, so incredible. . .

"Dean, I don't want you to go without food again," Castiel said after a small interval of comfortable silence.

"Okay," Dean sighed. He leaned his head on Castiel's collarbone, closing his beautiful green eyes.

Castiel marveled for a moment at how genuine the demon's trust was. He couldn't believe how far he'd come-how far _they'd_ come-from the bickering enemies that they had started out as.

"What time is it?" Castiel yawned.

Dean chuckled, his voice still raspy. "Late. Go to sleep, angel."

Castiel complied, tucking his wings tight around them and tipping his head back. He closed his eyes, warm with Dean in his lap.

Together, angel and demon fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, I know it was short and a little rushed and sort of ridiculous and I also said that there would be no more fluff.
> 
> Well, guess what? I decided that there IS. I also decided not to kill Cas, but it was last minute. ;) You're welcome.
> 
> Also, the reason it was short/rushed/sort of ridiculous was because I'm working on another fic and it's going to be FANTASTIC. You'll love it.
> 
> More on that soon. ;)
> 
> Stay safe and healthy, my precious human beans. You're amazing. ;)


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone!
> 
> Sorry for the late update, again. :( I'm also sorry that it's short, and that it seems like a filler chapter. It kind of is, and so is the next one. But I promise that in Chapter Twenty-Seven, there will be action. ;) Lots of it.
> 
> I hope you aren't too annoyed/mad/murderous. Enjoy! ;)

**Twenty-Five**

Castiel spent the next four days being doted on by Dean. The demon was ridiculous, demanding that Castiel drink 'at least more than half' of the water each time it was delivered. He made sure he ate, forced him to rest at all hours, and generally acted like the biggest mother hen Castiel had ever known.

When told that, Dean denied it.

The next round dragged on. When they weren't called up and the same friendly guard from before happened to be giving them their food that morning, Castiel asked him what was going on.

"We haven't fought in a few days," he said. The guard paused, nodding. He looked considerably more relaxed, and he even pressed up near the bars to speak to them.

_I could lunge at him. Take his keys, unlock our chains, escape. . ._

_If only Cas had his grace._

Dean could tell the angel was thinking the same thing, by the way his hand drifted to the grace-suppressor on his left wrist. His lip curled in a barely suppressed snarl.

The guard, meanwhile, was answering his question. "Well, you guys took out the top dog. That big brute, Ottoman or whatever, was the best in the arena. If you beat him, that means that you're first. Which means you have a bye."

"A bye? What's that?" Dean asked, brows furrowing. He was seated across the cell from Castiel, the position he always took up whenever a guard walked past. They didn't want to reveal just how close they were to each other, in case it was ever used against them.

"It's basically where you don't fight. You get a freebie," the guard explained. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Truth is, they really want you to get to the championship. You guys are good showbiz."

Dean shared a glance with Cas. "Any chance you can tell us who we'll be fighting?" the demon asked.

"No can do, buddy. They're battling it out today, the final two duos. Whoever wins goes to the championship with you," the demon guard replied. He winced. "I've already kinda broken the rules by talking to you, but you don't seem like assholes, so I figured: why not?"

"Thanks," Castiel said appreciatively, nodding. "We won't tell anyone."

The guard nodded, looking a little relieved, and continued down the way he'd come.

"Crazy," Dean muttered as the guard left. "Crazy." He suddenly felt high, giddy. Their final competition was fighting today. They were so close!

"What is?" Castiel asked, frowning at him.

"We're close, Cas. All we gotta do is kill whichever fuckers win today," Dean said. He grinned at the angel, green eyes bright with excitement. "Then we can go home."

Castiel laughed a little, seemingly also giddy at the thought of going home. 

Dean shook his head, grinning. "I can't wait."

"What's the first thing you're going to do?" Castiel asked. "I'm going to shower. For a long time."

Dean laughed, thinking. "I'm going to take a shower, and then I'm gonna eat an entire apple pie, and then I'm gonna sleep in my bed for thirty hours straight."

"Thirty?" Castiel asked, tilting his head, blue eyes shining with mirth. "That's all?"

Dean busted out laughing, Castiel following suit. For a moment, they simply laughed together, near-hysterical. Finally, as the laughter died and they calmed, Dean said more seriously, "It probably won't be easy."

"No," Castiel agreed. "They're fighting for freedom too. The competition has gotten fiercer."

Dean nodded in agreement, remembering Nemesis and Ormatu. Whoever they met on the sand tomorrow. . . They would be fighting just as hard to go home as Cas and him. "Definitely. We'll be ready, though."

"Who do you think it is?" Castiel asked after a moment. 

Dean frowned, thinking. "I've heard the duo of zombies is pretty savage. They took down that dragon, remember?"

Castiel's eyes widened as he remembered it. The zombies had managed to take out the large dragon that had been terrorizing the competition for weeks. Until then, it had seemed that the rest of them didn't even stand a chance.

"But the werewolf and the demon are a pretty good match too," Dean said thoughtfully, after a while. He strained his brain, trying to think of the past morning trainings."

"They don't work together," Castiel replied, shaking his head. "They haven't since day one."

For a moment, both demon and angel frowned. They were thinking hard, trying to remember who they'd seen at the morning practice and what their strengths and weaknesses were.

_Doesn't matter who we think is fighting. What do we know for sure?_ Dean wondered.

"Who's fighting today?" the demon asked.

"I know the zombies are," the angel conceded. He frowned. "But I can't remember who the other two were."

"Well. . . Who was at training yesterday?" Dean asked. Now that they were in the final two rounds, morning training had stopped. Their practice the day before had been the last one.

Castiel frowned, thinking. "I think. . . it was that pair of ghouls."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "The zombies or the ghouls."

Castiel sat back with a shaky huff of breath. Their bright spirits had dampened considerably now that they'd realized that they were going to be fighting one of the two. "Well, whomever we're fighting, they aren't coming out alive."

Dean grinned despite the worry shifting in his stomach, lifting an invisible glass. "Hell yeah."

That night, tucked against Castiel, Dean thought hard.

They were close to freedom. So, so close.

But he knew that anything could happen out in that arena, especially if both parties were desperate enough. He knew he and Castiel had intimidation on their side, but they were going in blind while the other team knew exactly what they were going up against. They had time to forge their plan to get past Dean and Castiel's defenses.

Besides, they were both injured to an extent, nowhere near their top performance.

Dean took a shuddering breath, trying to calm the thing in his heart that screamed, _This won't go the way you think it will!_

It would. It had to. He and Castiel had to survive. There was no way he was going to die out there, no way he was going to bleed out on that sandy arena floor.

And neither was the angel.

_Whatever happens_. . . Dean glanced over at Castiel. _Whatever happens, I won't let them hurt him. Not again._

He still couldn't think about the fight with Ormatu without feeling guilty. It was his fault the angel had gotten hurt, and if he didn't make it out of the arena because of that, Dean would never forgive himself.

_Stop. Don't think like that_ , Dean chided himself.

He pushed closer to the angel that was sleeping next to him, sheltered from the cold by the his enormous black wings.

The image of Castiel lying across the sand, those same wings spread out, crimson blood pooling beneath him and staining the sand red flashed across Dean's gaze.

The demon clenched his hands into fists, gritting his teeth.

He wouldn't let that happen. Not ever again.

And he didn't care what he had to do to prevent it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Who do you think the boys will fight?
> 
> Also, a random update: It is SO VERY HOT here. Our house has no air conditioning, and I am DYING. Literally, I'm sweating so much as I write this. However, I've heard that there are massive snowstorms across the Midwest United States, and some crazy weather for our friends in Europe as well! I hope you're all doing okay! Tell me about how the weather is where you are, I'm interested. XD
> 
> See you all in three days! ;)


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone.
> 
> I have to start with saying that I am so sorry. I know I haven't responded to any of your comments from last chapter, and I apologize for being so ungrateful. I love hearing from you, and I will get around to it. As it is, I barely posted this chapter, and as you can see, it's very late. :( Once again, I'm sorry.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. The action comes back in the next chapter, but for now, please enjoy some fluff. ;)

**Twenty-Six**

The next day, a different guard gave them food. He was a tall, ugly demon, and Castiel knew before he opened his mouth that he wasn't getting an answer.

"Who won yesterday?" the angel asked, despite himself.

The guard sneered at him, large yellow teeth leering from his slash of a mouth. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Dean leaped to his feet, but Castiel held him back with a wing. They couldn't afford to be beaten for misbehavior or because a guard was bored. Not now. With his shoulder only just recovering and Dean's back barely healed, they were still vulnerable to bad injuries that could lead to a disadvantage in the arena. They couldn't afford to get hurt even more.

Thankfully, the guard just sneered at them again before heading back down the hall. Dean snarled his disapproval and grabbed the food, handing half of it to Castiel without speaking.

The duo ate slowly, listening to the silence. They had a day until the next round, to give the other duo time to recover. 

After they were finished eating, Dean made Castiel submit to another check of his injuries, though Castiel's shoulder had healed over and was only incredibly sore.

"Do you want me to groom your wings?" Dean asked as he finished checking the rotation and field of movement. Castiel sighed, rolling his shoulders and wincing a little. 

"Sure." His wings could use the grooming. Besides, he wanted to try grooming Dean's horns again, and he knew the demon would only allow that if he'd helped Castiel first.

Dean had Castiel lay down on his stomach, the angel wincing at the temperature of the cold stone. Dean knelt by his side and began to knead the muscles between his shoulders, grinning to himself as Castiel relaxed and practically melted into the floor. Dean was getting sinfully good at figuring out which feathers needed to be tugged back into place and which muscles needed a little extra pressure. The demon's fingers were masterful by now, rubbing tension from places Castiel hadn't even been aware of. His hands were warm and sure, confident in their traversal across the planes of Castiel's back.

The angel groaned in pleasure as Dean massaged the junction where his wings met his shoulder blades. The demon chuckled and continued kneading there, his knuckles rubbing the tension away.

He plucked out loose feathers and twisted other ones back into place, apologizing when the pain caused Castiel to wince. Dean's throat was better, Castiel realized distantly. His voice was less raspy, and the collar of bruises had faded to dull green and purple.

"Do you-ooh, that one felt good-do you want me to-oh, just pull that one out. It's too loose. No don't worry about the pain-ah!-that's good. Do you want me to rub your horns after this?" Castiel asked, grunting as Dean pulled another feather out.

Dean's fingers slowed for a second, then continued at their normal tempo. "Nah, I'm good."

"Are you sure?" Castiel asked, frowning at the stone he was laying on.

"Uh, yeah," Dean said.

Castiel turned his head, frowning at the demon. Dean flicked his green eyes away, embarrassed."I thought we weren't supposed to lie to each other," the angel reminded him.

Dean flushed, looking away. His fingers stilled in the feathers on Castiel's back.

Castiel sighed. "Why wouldn't you want me to? It's fine if you don't, but I want to know why," he said.

Dean sighed. "I just. . . I reacted like a dumbass last time. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or something," he said. His face was still cherry red.

"You didn't act like a 'dumbass'. And I'm not uncomfortable. If you enjoy it, I enjoy it," Castiel replied. He didn't tell Dean that he enjoyed when he was floppy and happy because of Castiel, because he figured if anything could make _Dean_ uncomfortable, it was _that_.

Dean flushed an even deeper red, nodding. "Just. . . just let me finish here, yeah?" 

Castiel nodded, turning back to look at the wall, resting his head on his arms.

Dean finished his grooming a half hour or so later, sitting back on his heels as Castiel got up and rolled his neck. He groaned appreciatively. "You're quite good at that, Dean."

Dean's cheeks colored slightly. "I try."

Castiel smiled and sat back against the stone wall. "Alright, come here."

Dean flushed again, hesitating. Castiel was patient, allowing his thoughts to run their course. When he'd finished going through all the reasons he shouldn't be doing this, Dean got up and went to sit beside Castiel. The demon was tense, his shoulders set in a hard line. Castiel reached up and grabbed his horns, using them to lead his head onto the angel's lap.

"Cas-"

"Shh. Just relax," Castiel murmured, deliberately keeping his eyes on Dean's horns so that the demon didn't feel more uncomfortable than he already was.

He began to gently massage the base of Dean's horns. The demon closed his eyes, his body relaxing against his will as Castiel continued. The angel chuckled and rubbed up and down the ridges of Dean's beautiful curved horns, watching appreciatively as a slow smile spreading across the demon's face.

Castiel smiled too, using the pads of his fingers to massage the place where Dean's horns met his head. The demon's tail flicked lazily up from where it had been resting on the floor and wound slowly around Castiel's left forearm, causing the angel to laugh. He carded a hand through Dean's hair, smiling at the little shiver it caused the demon to emit.

Castiel continued to rub his thumbs along Dean's horns. The demon curled closer to him at some point, his knees pressing into Castiel's side as he leaned into the angel's touch. His tail tightened, but not uncomfortably so, and with a soft sigh, Dean's green eyes slipped closed.

_He's so different_ , Castiel found himself thinking. _So different from the person he was when I first met him. And. . . And I suppose I'm different too._

Yes, Castiel had changed. And perhaps not for the worst.

He smiled as Dean slowly fell asleep, a light snore coming from the handsome demon's mouth. Castiel chuckled and pulled Dean into a more comfortable position, covering him with his wings without even thinking.

He stroked through Dean's hair for a moment longer, fingers threading through the light brown hair. The demon turned his face toward Castiel, seeking touch and affection even in sleep.

For a moment, Castiel allowed himself to feel sadness. Dean had been through much, much more than Castiel could even comprehend. He was grateful that the demon had decided to trust him, that they had become friends. 

If he thought about it, the angel realized that if they had met anywhere but this arena, he probably would have become one of the many creatures who had hurt Dean. He might have even tried to kill him.

_No. I won't hurt him. No one will_ , Castiel thought. He smiled down fondly at the sleeping demon in his lap. _Wherever Dean's going after this arena. . . I'll protect him. I won't let him be hurt again._

_I swear it._

Castiel closed his eyes, staring at the elongating shadows that had come through the long hallway of their prison. He swallowed around the tightness in his throat, breathing deeply.

Dean chose that moment to make a soft sound and nuzzle into Castiel's torso, where his head was resting, and the angel couldn't help himself. He smiled, even as he felt the words bubble up from his chest, the forbidden trio that might change everything and nothing at all.

He nuzzled Dean's hair, his words swallowed by the softness of the long shadows, and whispered, "I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> I hope you're all doing well. We're still dying of heat up here. I read some of your weather reports, and I thought they were hilarious. I also feel some major sympathy for some of you. XD
> 
> I'll try to post in the morning, like usual, and have better quality chapters. I've been absolutely slammed with work and school stuff, and I turned in three late assignments this morning. Needless to say, I am very stressed. But I'm also working to get this story finished for you guys, because you're amazing and you deserve it. ;)
> 
> See you in three days!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Sorry for the late update and the short chapter.
> 
> This one is fun, though. The next one is even better. ;)
> 
> (Not everything will go as you thought. . .)

**Twenty-Seven**

The crowd's scream was deafening.

If it was possible, there were even more spectators than usual.

Dean glared up at the stands, absolutely stuffed with people. They were all screaming, all cheering, ready for a bloody death.

A set of walls greeted them when they stepped outside of the gate. Several more extended to the left and right, effectively blocking off any other exit or entrance.

For it was an entrance. An entrance into the largest maze Dean had ever seen.

Castiel led him over to a table, where two daggers gleamed. Dean grabbed one, handing the other to the angel. They were identical, nothing special, but the only weapons they'd received.

Dean glared up at the walls of the maze, nearly as tall as the ones that surrounded the arena. They were smooth, unable to be scaled with even the best equipment.

"Think they'd let you use your wings?" Dean asked over the raucous scream of the crowd.

Castiel shook his head, pointing at the guards armed with crossbows still patrolling the edges.

Castiel's shoulder was bound in the last of the bandages they'd been given. Dean's throat was still purple with bruises, but the cut on his cheek had become a scab and his back was mostly healed. Though they were stiff and weak, it was the best they could do. They'd have to hope that the other duo was weak from their previous fight.

Dean stepped into the maze first, his grip tightening on the dagger.

The crowd was screaming louder than ever, and Dean could only imagine that the other team had just entered the arena. He resisted the urge to grab the angel's hand, feeling Castiel's presence beside him as they came to their first crossroads.

"Where do we go?" Dean asked.

Castiel was looking around, eyes narrowed. "I think we need to get to the center!" he shouted.

"How?" Dean asked.

Castiel grimaced. "It's hard to say. All mazes are different."

Under different circumstances, Dean would have asked Castiel what the hell kind of other mazes he'd been in, and if they were this nightmarish.

But these circumstances were special, and Dean felt his heart stutter with adrenaline.

"Lead the way," Dean called over the noise.

Castiel nodded once and took the center path out of the three presented.

Dean followed the angel, keeping on the inside of the flare of his wings. They had no idea who they were facing, if they would be around the next corner or coming up right behind them.

As it was, Dean checked around every corner before they advanced.

By the time the sun had risen to the middle of the sky, they had found no one. The crowd was still screeching at the same annoying intensity, the sound ringing in Dean's ears.

Nerves frayed, adrenaline shot, patience thin, Dean gritted his teeth as they came around another corner. So far, they'd had to cut back a few times, but Castiel's sense of direction seemed to be on point. They were far closer to the center of the maze than they'd been at the beginning of the afternoon.

Unfortunately, even Dean's incredible memory couldn't archive each turn they'd made, and he was virtually lost.

Still, he and Castiel stayed close together, their arms pressed together, watching each others' backs.

The day wore on. They got closer and closer to the center of the maze. There was still no sign of the other team, something that was beginning to worry Dean.

"Where do you think they are?" he asked. It was the first time they'd talked for a long while.

Castiel shook his head. Dean could tell by the furrow of his brow that the angel was worried too. They had no idea where they were, what they were facing, or where that thing was.

But they didn't have long to ponder. Soon, the walls began to get higher.

"We're nearing the center," Castiel said to Dean. The demon nodded, blinking up at the walls that rose twelve feet high on either side. He wondered how they'd gotten all the walls in, how they'd managed to construct them so fast.

He followed Castiel as the angel took yet another turn, frowning in concentration. Dean kept his dagger ready, feeling strangely exposed. He kept looking back, thinking they were being watched. But whenever he turned, there was no one there.

Castiel stopped so suddenly Dean smacked into him, grunting. He looked up at what had made the angel stop and paused.

There was a huge set of doors in front of them.

"We're at the center," Castiel announced, slightly unnecessarily.

From the look of the sun, the doors were exactly parallel to the entrance of North Gate. They were large, made of thick metal and towering over the angel and demon. They seemed to loom imposingly in the light of the now-setting sun.

"You ready?" Dean shouted. The crowd's volume had increased. Castiel looked to him, blue eyes set and determined. He nodded once, jaw clenched with anticipation.

Dean took a deep breath and stepped forward, shoving open the doors. He and Castiel tensed, daggers ready, prepared to meet an attack the second the gates swung wide enough.

But nothing came through.

Instead, what greeted them made the demon's blood run cold.

"What the _fuck?_ " Dean breathed.

Four bodies laid scattered across the arena floor.

One was a zombie, its guts strewn across the sand, probably ripped out by thick claws. Its head lay a few feet away, tongue lolling grotesquely out of its mouth.

On the opposite side of the small circle, a ghoul was lying face-down on the sand. It was very obviously dead, and had been killed by the pistol in the other zombie's hand. The pistol zombie had been disemboweled too, but not before it could scrape its claws across the last creature's throat.

The werewolf was caught in the act of dragging itself toward Cas and Dean, its throat torn and its face twisted with desperation. It had evidently bled out on the sand a while ago.

"What happened?" Castiel asked, so quiet Dean could barely hear him over the screaming.

Dean swallowed, feeling sick. "This was the battle to get into the championship. Look, the blood is old and dried. These bodies have been here for days."

"They. . . They killed each other," Castiel said, his voice shaking. "No one survived."

"Yeah. And the construction crews built a huge maze around them," Dean said, grimacing. He stepped into the gruesome room, wrinkling his nose at the stench rising from the three day-old bodies.

"Why?" Castiel asked, stepping into the room.

The crowd had quieted some, though it wasn't silent by any means. Dean grimaced, glancing around. "I don't know. But I. . . Cas, I don't know if we have anyone to fight. I think we're the last ones left." He turned, eyes finding the door opposite the one they'd come in. "I think. . . I think our way out is through there," he said, pointing.

Castiel looked where Dean was pointing, grimaced, and nodded. He led the way through the bloody scene, stepping gingerly over the mutilated bodies. Dean followed close behind, staring back the way they'd come every few seconds.

Nothing but empty space and the dead bodies. He stopped beside Cas at the last door, staring up at the imposing wood. "What do you think is behind there?" the angel asked.

"Guards? Dragons? Apple pie? I don't know." Dean took a deep breath and stepped forward, brushing past Castiel. "You ready? Again?" he asked.

"I am," Castiel replied. He hefted his dagger, the edge gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. Dean nodded, glanced behind them one more time, and steeled himself as he pushed the door open.

As one, the duo stepped into the last room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No fighting? Whaaaa-?
> 
> TO CLARIFY, if anyone was confused: the last two duos, which turned out to be a werewolf and a ghoul against a duo of zombies, all fought so hard that they died. All of them. None of them made it out. The construction crews built a maze around their bodies and left a nasty surprise in the room that our beloved boys just stepped into. We'll see if they make it out alive. . .
> 
> Thanks for reading! I can't believe this is almost over. . . You are all so amazing, and you all brighten my day with how kind and supportive you continue to be. Stay healthy, both mentally and physically! Love you!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Sooo. . . All I have to say is: I'm sorry.

**Twenty-Eight**

Once inside the room, Castiel and Dean stopped.

There were no guards, dragons, or apple pies.

No. The only thing that stared back at Castiel and Dean was. . . Castiel and Dean.

"What the fuck?" Dean asked for the second time in a few minutes.

"Mirrors," Castiel breathed.

They'd stepped into a circular room. It was lined with mirrors, roughly twenty feet wide and twenty feet across. There was nothing inside. Just the sandy arena floor.

Dean stepped through and didn't think to check the door. It shut behind them with a click, unseen locks sliding into place.

"Fuck!" Dean shouted, whirling and kicking at the door. It didn't budge, and there was no handle on the inside. Nothing but smooth, solid wood.

They were trapped.

"What do we do?" Castiel asked, looking around. "What _is_ this?"

Dean glanced around, staring into the eyes of eighteen, twenty, thirty other Deans. A horrible feeling suddenly filled the pit of his stomach. He took in the ring, the locked door, the mirrors.

There was no one else here. No one else but them.

"Cas. . . ," Dean said, swallowing hard. "Cas, I think. . . I think there can only be one winner."

Castiel blinked. "But. . . But we're the last duo. We're the last winner. I-" He cut off, face paling as he figured out what Dean had been saying.

For a moment, angel and demon stared each other in the eyes.

_Do not think I won't kill you the first chance I get_ , Castiel had said. 

_Right back at ya, buddy_ , Dean had responded.

That had been weeks, months, lifetimes ago. It seemed that so much time had passed since the angel had first been thrown into Dean's cell, had first glared at him and asked the guards if they really had to be partners.

So much time had passed. . . and so much had happened.

_When?_ Dean found himself wondering. _When did it change? When did we become friends? When did I. . . When did I fall in love with him?_

Castiel was watching Dean, similar emotions and thoughts reflected in his blue eyes. Dean remembered the conversation they'd had weeks ago, talking under the veil of darkness night brought.

_What's your favorite color?_

_Blue, like the center of the summer sky._

_It's his eyes_ , Dean realized. _My favorite color is his eyes._

Dean tried to breathe, tried to think, but he couldn't. Not as he took in the horrible predicament before them.

They had to kill each other. There could only be one winner.

Much like what Castiel had once thought, Dean's mind flashed to the _Hunger Games_. 

How ironic. 

He tore his gaze from the angel's, took in the gleaming knife in his hand. The action of plunging that through Castiel's chest would be easy. But to take the light from those eyes, the sound of laughter from that chest, the fluttering life from those wings. . . That would be impossible.

_I can't_ , Dean realized. _I can't. It_ isn't _possible. There is no conceivable universe where I could ever, ever kill him._

His vision was blurry with unshed tears he didn't realize had accumulated. 

What had happened? What had changed? _When?_

A month ago, he would have gladly killed Castiel. In a heartbeat. A month ago, he would have taken the angel's head and showed it to his superiors, proud of himself for once. A month ago, he would have wished only that his father had been there to see.

But now, _now_. . . 

Now he couldn't bear to see the unshed tears in Castiel's eyes. The way his wings drooped, defeated for the first time in the long months Dean had known him. 

Because. . . Because Castiel had shown him that there was more to the world than just moving up a rank. That his father's approval wasn't worth it, that Dean was worthy anyway. He had shown him in so many ways, with so much light, that gummy smile and those beautiful wings and those laughing eyes.

_I can't let him be hurt. Not again._

The image of Castiel on the ground, wings flared around him, blood spreading across the sand, flashed before Dean's eyes. It would fuel his nightmares for the rest of his life. However long that was.

_Never again._

In that moment, the demon knew what to do.

He opened his arms, laughing a little past his tight throat, trying desperately to mask the fear and uncertainty on his face.

"It's okay, Cas," he choked out, voice shaking. "It's okay."

The angel-damn him-came willingly. He trusted Dean. Trusted that the demon wouldn't hurt him.

Dean collided with him, desperate for his warmth. He wrapped his arms around Castiel's, pinning the angel's arms between their chests, and allowed the angel to wrap his wings around them both. All around, the crowd screamed for death.

"I won't," Castiel breathed in Dean's ear, voice shaking and raspy and so, _so_ broken. "I won't. I won't. _I won't._ "

"It's okay, angel," Dean whispered back, barely audible in Castiel's ear. "You don't have to."

He reached between them with his right arm, still crushing Castiel to him with his left. Their bodies were still pressed against each other by the near-bruising power of Castiel's wings. 

Dean grabbed the angel's wrist where it was trapped between them.

Dean looked into Castiel's eyes-those beautiful, beautiful blue eyes-and smiled sadly.

He tightened his grip on the angel's wrist and jerked upward. The knife the angel had been holding pierced flesh.

Castiel screamed.

Dean closed his eyes, feeling the angel's wings fall away, the pressure of their strength releasing him. The crowd's noise surged to deafening heights as they witnessed the blood spurt outward and fall to the sand.

Not the crimson blood of an angel, but the dark maroon of a demon.

Dean's knees gave out, his body jarring painfully as he hit the sand with a thud.

He fell to the side. Before he could hit the arena floor, though, strong arms caught him.

"Dean. _Dean!_ Please, no, _no_. Dean, _please-_ "

Dean blinked hazily up at Castiel. He was lying on his back, his torso in Castiel's lap. The demon's eyes flickered to the knife handle that emerged from his own chest. Castiel was staring at it with unbridled horror in his eyes.

The sun was setting, Dean realized distantly as he looked past Castiel at the sky. It was staining the sky with red and gold.

Floodlights, glaring and white, had come on at the roof of the open-air arena. They beat down on the sand, shining on the metal walls, illuminating the ends of Castiel's hair silver and making him look like he was wearing a halo.

" _Dean_ ," Castiel was sobbing. " _Dean._ "

"Shh, angel," Dean soothed. His lips were wet, his mouth filled with blood. The knife had punctured his lungs, he was sure of it. He had known what he was doing, where he was guiding Castiel's hand. He had made sure there was no undoing it.

"Please, Father, _no_. No, Dean, no, please, _please_ , I'm begging you," Castiel choked out. He put a hand to Dean's forehead, as if to check his temperature, then screamed as his eyes landed on the grace-suppressor still cuffed to his wrist. Dean's heart twisted as his angel's face crumpled and he sobbed.

Dean lifted his hand, his arm numb. It was stained crimson, the blood rubbing off on Castiel's cheek as the demon caressed it gently. "It's okay, angel. It's g-go. . . nna be. . . okay."

"No, no, I _can't_ ," Castiel sobbed, shaking his head. "I can't."

"You can," Dean said quietly. The blood in his mouth was dribbling down, pooling in the hollow of his neck. He couldn't feel anything anymore. It felt like the one time he'd had laughing gas at the dentist's office, like he was floating out of his body.

His vision cleared as he blinked and the tears in his eyes fell. They tracked their way down to his temples, then into his sweaty, bloody hair.

The selfish part of Dean wanted to stay. The selfish part of Dean wanted to live, to continue to love Castiel. The selfish part of him wished that all of this had never happened, that they could have met in a place where they could have loved and been together without the inevitable cloud of death hanging over them. That they could have done all the stupid things couples did, that they could have laughed and cuddled and slept together, maybe one more time.

_We are all born to die_ , Dean's brain argued.

_I would have liked to die with him_ , his heart replied.

"It's okay, angel," Dean said, probably for the thousandth time. His brain was fogging and he knew his words were slurring, that they were barely audible over the scream of the crowd.

Castiel wailed in distress, his wings smashed against his back as tight as they would go. It hurt Dean's heart to see the pain on Castiel's face, to know that he was the cause of it.

"Dean, please don't leave me," Castiel choked out. " _Please_ , I can't live without you."

"You can," Dean rasped out. "You will."

He could feel it coming, the darkness on the edges of his vision. The pain had faded, the sound of his wet, rattling breath and Castiel's desperate pleas fading too.

"No, no, no, _no!_ It wasn't. . . It wasn't supposed to end like this," Castiel sobbed. "We were supposed to go free. And then. . . then I was g-going to quit my p-position and-and-"

"Shh," Dean soothed, fighting not to choke and spit blood all over Castiel. It would upset his angel too much.

The darkness on the edges of his vision started to creep inward. Dean could no long hear his own breathing. The crowd's roar had hollowed to a tinny echo.

Soon, the world would go dark. Dean wondered if he'd see his mom.

"Bye, angel," he whispered, stroking a thumb over Castiel's cheekbone. He saw his hand fall to the sand, as if the strings had been cut. "I love you."

Castiel sobbed again, grabbing at Dean's limp hand.

In the moment the demon's chest rose and fell for the last time, the angel tried to force the words out, to make his voice work, to say what he had said the night before.

To tell the other half of his soul that he loved him.

But it was too late.

The demon's eyes stared up at the blood red sky, their emerald green depths empty of that beautiful light.

Dean was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . Well.
> 
> Some of you guessed it would happen. You were right. To the others that I sickeningly blindsided: Surprise! :)
> 
> You can flame me in the comments now.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> Oh my God, I am so, so, SO sorry! I know I should have posted yesterday, but things got crazy and I completely forgot. I take a lot of pride in the fact that I am dependable, and I deeply apologize for soiling that reputation.
> 
> That was probably the worst chapter to leave you on, too. XD I am so sorry. Please, enjoy this one.

**Twenty-Nine**

Castiel stared up at the house, eyes reflecting the gloomy gray of the sky.

It was a nice house, he supposed. Built in the middle of nowhere, massive, and tucked away into a beautiful forest. It would have been nice to have a house with Dean.

Castiel shook his head, shoving the thoughts away, and focused on his task. He should have felt excited. He should have felt nervous. But he didn't.

Castiel didn't feel anything anymore.

At least he was away from the base, with his brothers' worried looks and whispered conversations. He knew they were worried, knew they only wanted to help.

He knew he'd hurt them when he closed himself off, when he refused to speak or eat for days. He hadn't been able to even look at Michael, let alone talk to him like the archangel demanded.

Castiel had locked himself in his room, for the most part.

At first, all he'd done was lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, the phantom sound of deep laughter and bright green eyes haunting him.

Then he'd thrown himself into research, into fulfilling his promise.

_I won't let another person down._

That research had led him here, to this house in this forest.

"Who are you?" a voice asked in broken Enochian.

Castiel looked over at the faerie standing a few feet away, hands glowing with energy. He should have felt surprised, should have felt angry that he'd allowed something to sneak up on him.

But again, he didn't feel anything anymore.

" _My name is Castiel_ ," he said in the language of the faeries. He could hear his voice in his ears, flat and dead. " _I was in the arena with your daughter, Cora_."

The faerie stilled. " _Cora?_ "

Castiel nodded. He held out his hand, showing the older male faerie the mark on his palm. The faerie's eyes widened and he dropped his hands, the light dying.

" _She's. . . She's dead. And she gave you her blessing? Her magic?_ "

" _Yes_ ," Castiel replied. He felt a small flicker of sympathy, of grief. Maybe he _could_ feel something. " _I am sorry for your loss_."

" _We weren't the only ones to lose someone, it seems_ ," said a new voice. Both Castiel and the older male faerie, who must have been Cora's father, turned.

On the wide deck of the house was a female faerie, an almost-identical replica of Cora. 

" _Kaia, go inside_ ," the male faerie commanded.

The female, Kaia, didn't obey. Instead, she stepped down the porch steps and came to a stop beside Castiel. Though her face was youthful, her eyes looked ancient.

" _My sister was very powerful_ ," she told Castiel. " _She did not take her gifts lightly. To give them over to you speaks of your character_."

" _Thank you_ ," Castiel said flatly. Not even a sliver of pride flickered in his chest. Nothing but an empty, hollow, demon-shaped hole. 

_If my character is so impressive, why couldn't I save Dean?_

Castiel shoved the thought down, swallowing the bitterness in his throat.

Kaia watched him with sad eyes. " _Thank you for giving us the news. It is appreciated_."

" _Of course_ ," Castiel replied, nodding at her and her father. " _It was the least I could do. She. . . She said she loves you_."

Kaia and the male faerie nodded, their faces twisted with pain.

_My job is done, my promise fulfilled._

Castiel turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand on his forearm. Kaia looked him in the eyes, her own seeming ancient and wise in the half-light of the forest.

" _Castiel, my sister was incredibly powerful. She dealt in the borders of life and death, conversed with the demons of crossroads like they were old friends. Her gift is a valuable one. Perhaps you can use it to bring your light back_."

Castiel stared at her for a second, realizing that she wasn't talking about the dullness of his eyes. No, Kaia was talking about Castiel's _light_ , his love. 

His demon.

" _Thank you_ ," the angel whispered.

Kaia nodded once.

Then she released his forearm and went back into the beautiful house, her father following close behind.

Castiel opened his wings, the leaves in the clearing stirring.

In a moment, the angel was gone.

Castiel sat on a log at the edge of a lake, staring out at the water. It was smooth, calm, reflecting the stars that winked in the inky darkness above.

_My gift is in life and death, angel_.

_My sister was incredibly powerful_. 

_Perhaps you can use it to bring your light back_.

Castiel closed his eyes, releasing a soft breath into the wind.

He felt at his chest, at the small kernel of power that lingered there. A mere fraction of the power that its previous owner had possessed.

_Bring him back_ , Castiel thought as he grasped at that power. He imagined releasing it, allowing it to float up and up on the wind, out into the stars. _Bring him back to me. Bring me back my light, my demon_.

Bring me back my Dean.

The wind stirred the trees. The water continued lapping at the sandy banks. The stars still twinkled.

Nothing moved.

Castiel closed his eyes, pain like never before cascading through him. Of _course_ it hadn't worked, had he really thought it would be so easy-

Then, like a call from Heaven, like an answered prayer, a deep voice spoke up behind him. 

"Hey, angel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know, that was predictable. A lot of you awesome people guessed what was going to happen. You were right. ;)
> 
> Also, I have a question. I know a lot of you are fantastic, experienced writers. Do you have any tips on how to write sad scenes? As you could probably tell, that isn't exactly my strong point. :( If you had any tips, that would be GREATLY appreciated.
> 
> Once again, I am so sorry for not posting on time. Maybe I'll give you the final chapter tomorrow as an apology. ;)
> 
> See you soon!


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Last one. . . It's short and sweet, and I hope you like it!
> 
> Also, thank you so much for all of your suggestions for writing sad scenes, I really appreciate them!

**Thirty**

"Dean."

Castiel's voice was choked. He stared at the demon that stood casually behind him, wearing an unfamiliar leather jacket, a black T-shirt, and jeans. 

Dean grinned at him. "Cas."

Castiel swallowed, his throat clicking. "Is it. . . is it really you?"

Dean glanced down, patting his sides and torso. "Yep, I think so. Hey, that was some real fancy magi-" 

The demon cut off with a grunt as he suddenly found his arms full of shaking, laughing, crying angel. He smiled, squeezing Castiel tight.

"I thought you were gone," Castiel sobbed, wings curling around Dean hard enough to hurt. "I thought you were _gone_."

Dean didn't try to fight the tears that gathered and streamed down his face. He laughed a little, though it was strained. "I'll always come back to you, angel."

"And I, you," Castiel replied, opening his eyes. Dean’s mouth felt dry at the oceans of pure adoration in the angel’s eyes. Castiel grabbed the demon's face in his hands. "I love you. I _love_ you, Dean Winchester."

Dean laughed, a little taken aback. "Uh. . . I-I love you, Cas."

"I didn't tell you," Castiel said, face crumpling suddenly. His breath sounding suspiciously like a sob. He shook his head, a fresh wave of tears streaming from his eyes. "I didn't tell you before you-before you-"

"Shh," Dean soothed, holding the angel's head to his chest. "Shh. I'm here now. I'm back."

He didn't quite know how, of course. All he knew was that one second he was standing at a crossroads, watching a familiar faerie argue with the demon in charge, and then he was being pulled back here to an unfamiliar lakeside.

He knew the questions would come later. He couldn’t answer them. The truth was, he didn't really remember the other side. But he was back.

"You stupid bastard!" Castiel suddenly cried, his mood changing from grateful and relieved to angry in an instant. He hit Dean on the chest. Hard. "You bastard! You shouldn't have done that! You shouldn't have-"

"Angel, please," Dean pleaded. "Please. Calm down, Cas. It's okay. I'm okay. I'm here now."

Castiel shook his head, overcome by another wave of sobs.

All of his emotions, all of that pent-up rage and fear and pain and sadness. . . It was all rushing out. He wanted to kick Dean, to beat him to a pulp, just as much as he wanted to fly them somewhere more private and kiss him breathless.

He opted for the second option.

Dean yelped as the scenery changed, the vertigo that came with flying rocking his senses as they appeared in Castiel's apartment in an unfamiliar city.

"Cas-"

Castiel cut him off by smashing his lips against the demon's. Dean stiffened in surprise, unused to the feeling of another’s lips on his. Then he inhaled the scent of _Cas_ and _home_ and everything was alright again. Dean gave him control easily, sinking against the angel as Castiel dominated the kiss.

They broke apart for air.

"I love you," Castiel breathed, blue eyes glowing. "I love you."

Dean laughed, his gorgeous green eyes alight with happiness. "I love you too."

"Will you be mine?" Castiel asked quietly, resting his forehead against Dean's. The demon closed his eyes, smiling softly. 

"Yes."

Castiel's wings fluffed up behind him. He smiled into Dean’s green eyes. “I have a way to welcome you home, if you’re interested.”

Dean laughed softly. “Only if you promise your performance in bed is better than your dirty talk.”

Castiel just grinned. “Oh, my Dean. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Hours later, lying in bed together, Castiel held Dean tightly to his chest. The demon was facing away from him, loose and floppy. He practically purred when the angel ran his fingers through his hair.

"I'm never letting you go," Castiel breathed against Dean's neck. "Never again."

Dean snorted, some doubt entering his mind despite the love they had just made. "Cas. . . you sure? I have issues, angel. I'm not exactly fun to be around sometimes."

"Me neither," Castiel murmured against his skin, still warm from passion. "But we'll make it work. We always do." 

"Yeah," Dean agreed. That, at least, was true.

He had been returned to Castiel the exact way he was when they had stepped into that damned arena the last time. All the same scars, though without the healing wounds. He was still underweight, but so was Castiel. They would get healthier together. The angel couldn’t wait to surprise Dean with pie in the morning.

"I'm going to build us a house,” Castiel murmured against the back of Dean's neck after a while. He remembered Cora's family, the faeries' house in the woods. "It's going to be isolated, so no one will ever bother us."

Dean laughed, turning around so he was facing Castiel. "Sounds good. I'll help you build it."

"Perfect," Castiel replied, kissing him gently. He smiled at the demon. "It might take a while."

Dean kissed him back, smiling softly. "That's fine. We have all the time in the world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. . . that's it.
> 
> Thank you so much for your continued love and support throughout this story. Life has been pretty crazy lately, hasn't it? I am so glad you are all here, and I pray that you and your loved ones stay safe and healthy in this time.
> 
> You're incredible. Thank you so much for this journey, it's been one of my favorites so far. I wish you the best of luck in writing and reading and wherever else life takes you. See you soon!
> 
> ~Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound


End file.
